artially on them all.

"She's not much of a conversationalist," remarked Mr. Fairfield.

"Give her time," said Patty, "she feels a little strange at first."

"Yes," said Mr. Phelps, "I think after two or three years she'll be much
more talkative."

"Well, there's one thing certain," said Patty, "she'll have to stay here
to-night, whatever we do with her to-morrow."

[Illustration: "In a few minutes Patty was feeding Rosabel bread
and milk"]

After dinner they took their new toy with them to the parlour, and Miss
Rosabel treated them all to a few more winning smiles, and then quietly,
but very decidedly fell asleep in Patty's arms.

"I can't help admiring her decision of character," said Patty, as she
shook the baby to make her awaken, but without success.

"Don't wake her up," said Nan. "Come, Patty, we'll take her upstairs, and
put her to bed somewhere."

This feat being accomplished, Nan and Patty rejoined the men, who sat
smoking on the front verandah.

"Now," said Patty, "we really must decide what we're going to do with
that infant; for I warn you, Papa Fairfield, that if we keep that dear
baby around much longer, I shall become so attached to her that I can't
give her up."

"Of course," said Mr. Fairfield, "she must be turned over to the
authorities. I'll attend to it the first thing in the morning."

A little later Mr. Fairfield and Nan strolled down the road to make a
call on a neighbour, and Patty and Dick Phelps remained at home.

Patty had declared she wouldn't leave the house lest Rosabel should waken
and cry out, so promising to make but a short call, Mr. Fairfield and Nan
went away.

Soon after they had gone, a strange young man came walking toward the
house. He turned in at the gate and approached the front steps.

"Is this Mr. Richard Phelps?" he asked, addressing himself to Dick.

"It is; what can I do for you?"

"Do you own a large black racing automobile?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Phelps.

"And were you out in it this afternoon," continued the stranger, "driving
rapidly between here and North Point?"

"Yes," said Mr. Phelps again, wondering what was the intent of this
peculiar interview.

"Then you're the man I'm after," declared the stranger, "and I'm obliged
to tell you, sir, that you are under arrest."

"For what offence?" enquired Mr. Phelps, rather amused at what he
considered a good joke, and thinking that it must be a case of mistaken
identity somehow.

"For kidnapping