little Mary Brown," was the astonishing reply.

"Why, we didn't kidnap her at all!" exclaimed Patty, breaking into the
conversation. "The idea, to think we would kidnap a baby! and anyway her
name isn't Mary, it's Rosabel."

"Then you know where the child is, Miss," said the man, turning to Patty.

"Of course I do," said Patty, "she's upstairs asleep. But it isn't Mary
Brown at all. It's Rosabel,--I don't know what her last name is."

Mr. Phelps began to be interested.

"What makes you think we kidnapped a baby, my friend?" he said to their
visitor.

The man looked as if he had begun to think there must be a mistake
somewhere. "Why, you see, sir," he said, "Mrs. Brown, she's just about
crazy. Her little girl, Sarah, went out into the woods this afternoon,
and took the baby, Mary, with her. The baby went to sleep, and Sarah left
it lying on a blanket under a tree, while she roamed around the wood
picking blueberries. Somehow she strayed away farther than she intended
and lost her way. When she finally managed to get back to the place where
she left the baby, the child was gone, and she says she could see a large
automobile going swiftly away, and the lady who sat in the front seat was
holding little Mary. Sarah screamed, and called after you, but the car
only went on more and more rapidly, and was soon lost to sight. I'm a
detective, sir, and I looked carefully at the wheel tracks in the dust,
and I asked a few questions here and there, and I hit upon some several
clues, and here I am. Now I'd like you to explain, sir, if you didn't
kidnap that child, what you do call it?"

"Why, it was a rescue," cried Patty, indignantly, without giving Mr.
Phelps time to reply. "The dear little baby was all alone in the wood,
and anything might have happened to her. Her mother had no business to
let her be taken care of by a sister that couldn't take care of her any
better than that! We waited for some time, and nobody appeared, so we
picked up the child and brought her home, rather than leave her there
alone. But I don't believe it's the child you're after anyway, for the
name Rosabel is embroidered on the blanket."

"It is the same child, Miss," said the man, who somehow seemed a little
crestfallen because his kidnapping case proved to be only in his own
imagination. "Mrs. Brown described to me the clothes the baby wore, and
she said that blanket was given to her by a rich lady who had a little
girl named Rosabel. The Browns