Part 20 (2/2)

Pinkney. ”Guess Mamma Pinkney will have something to say about _my_ trousers when we get home, let alone Sammy's.”

”Do you suppose the car will run all right?” asked the anxious Agnes.

”I don't know what Ruth would say if we broke down.”

”She'd say a-plenty,” returned Neale. ”But wait till I get some of this mud off me and I'll try her out again. By the way she bucked that last time I should say there was nothing much the matter with her machinery.”

This proved to be true. If anything was strained about the mechanism it did not immediately show up. Neale got the automobile under way without any difficulty and they drove ahead through the now fast darkening road.

The belt of woods was not very wide, but the car ran slowly and when the searchers came out upon the far side, the old shack which housed the big, red-faced woman, who had been kind to Sammy, and her brood of children, some of whom had been not at all kind, the place looked to be deserted.

In truth, the family were berry pickers and had been gone all day (after Sammy's adventure with the cherry-colored calf) up in the hills after berries. They had not yet returned for the evening meal, and although Neale stopped the car in front of the shack Mr. Pinkney decided Sammy would not have remained at the abandoned place.

And, of course, Sammy had not remained here. After his exciting fight with Peter and Liz, and fearing to return to the house to complain, he had gone right on. Where he had gone was another matter. The automobile party drove to the town of Crimbleton, which was the next hamlet, and there Mr. Pinkney made exhaustive inquiries regarding his lost boy, but to no good result.

”We'll try again to-morrow, Mr. Pinkney, if you say so,” urged Neale.

”Of course we will,” agreed Agnes. ”We'll go every day until you find him.”

Their neighbor shook his head with some sadness. ”I am afraid it will do no good. Sammy has given us the slip this time. Perhaps I would better put the matter in the hands of a detective agency. For myself, I should be contented to wait until he shows up of his own volition.

But his mother--”

Agnes and Neale saw, however, that the man was himself very desirous of getting hold of his boy again. They made a hasty supper at the Crimbleton Inn and then started homeward at a good rate of speed.

When they came up the grade toward the old house beside the road, at the edge of the wood, the big woman and her family had returned, made their own supper, and gone to bed. The place looked just as deserted as before.

”The dead-end of nowhere,” Neale called it, and the automobile gathered speed as it went by. So the searchers missed making inquiry at the very spot where inquiry might have done the most good. The trail of Sammy Pinkney was lost.

Neale O'Neil wanted to satisfy himself about one thing. He said nothing to Agnes about it, but after he had put up the car and locked the garage, he walked down Main Street to Byburg's candy store.

June Wildwood was always there until half past nine, and Sat.u.r.day nights until later. She was at her post behind the sweets counter on this occasion when Neale entered.

”I am glad to see you, Neale,” she said. ”I'm awfully curious.”

”About that bracelet?”

”Yes,” she admitted. ”What has come of it? Anything?”

”Enough. Tell me,” began Neale, before she could put in any further question, ”while you were with the Gypsies did you hear anything about Queen Alma?”

”Queen Zaliska. I was Queen Zaliska. They dressed me up and stained my face to look the part.”

”Oh, I know all about that,” Neale returned. ”But this Queen Alma was some ancient lady. She lived three hundred years ago.”

”Goodness! How you talk, Neale O'Neil. Of course I don't know anything about such a person.”

”Those Gypsies you were with never talked of her?”

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