her."

"But where is she now? We want to see her," said Grace.

"Come along then and I'll show you where she's diggin'. She's al'lus
diggin' roots."

Now, all keyed up, and plainly excited that Jack and Mally should lead
them so readily to their quarry, the girls followed the boys in
silence--the boys, however, did plenty of talking to fill in the
breach. They evidently cared less for Maid Mary than they did for
"Sunnies," and as the creek was their hunting ground for the wily
little fish and they were now going away from the pools and puddles
that ran and swelled into the creek, both lads were inclined to travel
faster than even scout girls could follow over the rough hills.

"There she is!" exclaimed Mally, pointing to a white speck in a green
field. "Better run up quiet or she'll dash off like a deer," and
making some mysterious sign to Jack, the erstwhile pathfinders darted
off themselves toward their clew.

"There she is," repeated Grace, "and as brother Benny would say, Now it
is up to us!"

CHAPTER VI

A LITTLE MAID IN CLOVER

"Do hurry, Madie, she may run away!" warned Cleo. They were hurrying
indeed, and the request seemed superfluous, for never did three girls
make more haste in crossing that stretch of meadow. In fact Grace and
Cleo were running, and now Madaline jumped to their pace.

"Do you think maybe they keep goats?" the latter managed to ask, and in
spite of their serious haste both Cleo and Grace shouted in laughter.

"Goats!" they both exclaimed.

"Because if they do I'm not going near the old place. I'm awfully
afraid of goats and geese."

"Because you're so nice and fat!" teased Cleo. "You're afraid they'll
take you for--for sausage. But--here we are! Don't let us frighten
the child," and her voice was now lowered to a whisper.

The little girl, with the long brown braids, sat in a bed of beautiful
pink clover, and with her back to the intruders she had not yet sensed
their approach. As before, she wore a white dress and no hat.

"Hello!" spoke Grace cautiously.

She sprang up, but Cleo placed her hand kindly on the basket of ferns
and clovers.

"Oh, don't go!" pleaded Cleo. "We want to talk to you."

"But I can't," faltered the child, and the rich cultured tone betrayed
her good breeding. In fact she used the long "a" in can't and the
girls at once decided she was English.

"Oh, why not?" Cleo followed up quickly. "Don't you want to know us?
We are str