"Is she nice?" asked Margit Salgo, eagerly, looking at the two Central
High girls.
"Bless us!" muttered Bobby.
"She is a very well educated lady," said Eve, seriously. "I cannot tell
whether you would like her. But--but do you really believe that she
knows anything about you, Margit?"
"I do not know how much she knows of _me_," said the Gypsy girl,
quickly. "But of my mother's people she knows. That I am sure. She--she
holds the key, you would say, to the matter. It is through her, I am
sure, that the Vareys expect to get money for me."
"To sell you to Miss Carrington?" gasped Eve.
"I do not know," replied the Gypsy girl, shaking her head. "But there is
money to be made out of me, I know. And Queen Grace is--is very eager to
get money."
"She's avaricious, is she?" said Eve, thoughtfully.
But Bobby Hargrew's mind was fixed upon another phase of the subject.
She took Margit's hand and asked, softly:
"What was your mother's name, dear?"
"Why--Madam Salgo."
"But her first name--her intimate name? What did your father call her?
Do you not remember?"
Margit waited a moment and then nodded. "I understand," she said. "It
was 'Annake.'"
"Anne?"
"Ah, yes--in your harsh English tongue," returned Margit. "But why do
you ask?"
Bobby was not willing to tell her that--then.
"At any rate, Margit," Eve told her, soothingly, "you will stay here
with us just as long as you like." The girl had narrated her flight from
Centerport when she saw the Gypsies in that town and knew they would
hunt her down. "And we girls will help you find your friends."
"This Miss Carrington," spoke Margit, eagerly. "She knows. I must meet
her. But do you not tell her anything about me. Let me meet and judge
her for myself."
"Don't you think we'd better tell her something about you?" asked Eve,
thoughtfully.
"Perhaps she might not want to know me," replied the Gypsy girl,
anxiously. "Who am I? A Romany! All you other people look down on the
Romany folk."
"Well, you are only part Gypsy," said the practical Evangeline. "And
your father was an educated man--a great musician, you say."
"Surely!"
"Then I wouldn't class myself with people who would chase me with a
bloodhound, and only wanted to make money out of me," said Eve,
sensibly.
"Ah! but all the Romany folk are not like, the Vareys," returned Margit.
Eve would not allow the girl to talk until late, for her experience in
the swamp had been most exhausting. They bundled her into bed, and laid
all her poor clothing--which Mrs. Sitz had washed and ironed with her
own hands--on the chair beside her.
Bobby had one more question to ask the Gypsy girl before she went to
sleep, and she asked that in secret.
"How did that Varey woman--that Gypsy queen--know so much about me, and
about Laura Belding, and our affairs?"
"Did she?" returned Margit, sleepily. "She is a sharp one! But, then,
the Vareys have worked through this part of the country for years and
years. That is why I was given to them, I think. Perhaps Grace Varey has
been to Centerport many times--I do not know. We Romany folk pick up all
sorts of information--yes!"
Bobby stole into bed beside Eve. She could not sleep for some time; but
finally her eyes closed and--for some hours, or some minutes, she never
knew which--she slept. Then, a dog's howling broke her rest.
Bobby sat up and listened. The dog's mournful howling sounded nearer.
Some dog about the Sitz premises answered with several savage barks.
But, as nothing followed, the city girl dropped back upon her pillows
again.
The night noises of the country, however, disturbed her. She could not
sleep soundly. Once she thought she heard voices--and so clearly that it
seemed as though they must be in the bedroom.
But it was still dark. Nobody could be astir, she told herself, at such
a dark hour. A rooster crowed, and then several others followed. She
fell asleep again slowly counting the chanticleers.
And then--suddenly, it seemed--Eve was shaking her and calling in her
ear:
"Oh, Bobby! Bobby! Wake up--do! What do you suppose has happened?"
It was broad daylight. Eve was more than half dressed and the door
between their room and that occupied by the Gypsy girl was open.
"What's the matter?" gasped Bobby.
"She's gone!" wailed Eve.
"Who's gone?" and Bobby leaped out of bed.
"That girl. Out of the window. She's run away!"
Bobby ran to look into the room. The window sash was up and the blinds
wide open. The girls had slept on the ground floor, and alone in this
wing of the rambling old farmhouse.
"What did she run away for?" demanded Bobby, slowly. "She could have
_walked_ away, had she wanted to, couldn't she? Nobody would have
stopped her."
"But she's gone!" cried Eve.
"So I see," Bobby admitted, grimly. "She didn't go of her own free will,
you can just bet!"
"I didn't think of that," cried Eve, running to the window.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and even farmer folk remain an hour
longer in bed on that day. The sun, which had just risen, revealed the
hillside fields and pastures clearly. There was not an object in sight
which suggested the missing girl's escape, saving just beneath the
window. There several planks had been laid upon the soft earth, to make
a walk to the hard path. This had been done by those who had come after
Margit Salgo, so as to leave no footprints.
Eve finished dressing in a hurry and ran to tell her parents and Otto.
Mr. and Mrs. Sitz slept at the other end of the house, and Otto and the
hired man on the floor above.
Whoever had kidnapped the girl--for such it seemed to be--had worked
very circumspectly. The watchdog, chained by his hutch, had been caught
and a strong rubber band fastened about his jaws so that he could not
bark. This had evidently been the first work of the marauders.
Then they had gone about taking out the girl coolly enough. There were
few footprints anywhere. And in the roadway they found where a wagon had
been turned around. In this wagon, it was likely, Margit had been
carried away, and it had started along the road in the direction of
Centerport.
"They have got her again," sighed Bobby. "And goodness only knows what
they will do with her, or where they will hide her away." "Perhaps we
will never see the poor girl again," ventured Eve.
But Bobby did not believe that. She knew now, for sure, that Margit
Salgo was in some manner closely connected with the private affairs of
Miss Carrington. She was sure that both the Gypsies and Margit would
appear near the high school again.