Several boys and girls seated near Bert had seen him snap the paper cracker. Of course they would never “tell on him,” but they gave him sidelong glances to see if he would accept the “invitation” of the teacher.

“I am waiting,” went on Miss Riker, in a quiet voice. “I want the boy—I don’t think it was one of the girls—I want that boy to come up to my desk.”

The room again became very still and quiet.

And then, slowly, like the little man he was, Bert arose in his seat. He was rather pale, for he realized that he had done a wrong thing. But he was not going to sneak out of it.

“I snapped the cracker, Miss Riker,” he said slowly.

“Oh, Bert! I’m so sorry!” was the teacher’s answer. “Come up here and sit in the front seat. The others go on studying.”

That was Miss Riker’s way. She never punished a pupil at once when rules were broken. She wanted to think over it quietly and have the pupil think of it, so she always asked the boy or girl who had been disobedient to come to the front seat.

Bert knew what this meant. He would be kept in after school, perhaps made to write “disorderly” five hundred times or do some other “punish lesson.” And he was trying so hard for a perfect mark this last month of school! Too bad!

Well, it was his own fault—he knew that.

Slowly he made his way to the front seat, the eyes of every other boy and girl in the room looking at him. Miss Riker did not look at him. That would come later.

“Five minutes more of study and then I’ll hear the geography class,” Miss Riker announced, and this set the laggard ones feverishly to studying, some murmuring over and over again the location of the Cape of Good Hope, which was the easiest thing to remember about Africa.

Bert was not allowed to recite with the others. He was kept in the front seat and began to feel very uncomfortable. He wished Miss Riker would tell him how she was going to punish him, and have it over with.

But when the time came to dismiss the pupils for the day, the teacher said:

“You may all go now except Bert Bobbsey.”

This was to be expected.

Slowly Nan, with a sad look on her face for her brother’s plight, marched out of the room with the others. Miss Riker busied herself with some papers at her desk. Bert sat in the front seat. Then the teacher, looking up, saw Danny Rugg in his seat. He had remained after the others.

“Why, Danny!” exclaimed Miss Riker in surprise, “I didn’t tell you to stay in. You didn’t snap a paper cracker, did you?”

“No’m,” murmured Danny rather bashfully. “But I—I doubled-dared Bert to snap his, and that’s why he did it. I—now—I wanted to tell you.”

“Oh!” was all Miss Riker said, but there was a strange look on her face.

“Yes’m,” murmured Danny, though, really, he did not know why he said it.

Again the room became very quiet, only the clock ticked loudly—oh, so loudly!

Then, with a smile, Miss Riker said:

“Well, Bert, I think you needn’t stay in any longer. I was going to give you a punish lesson, but as long as Danny has been brave enough to remain and confess his part of it—though really you shouldn’t do a thing just because you are dared to do it—I think, after all, that I will let you both go home. You won’t crack any more snappers—or snap any more crackers—in school hours, will you, Bert?”

“No’m! Never any more!” he said very earnestly.

“And you won’t dare him again, Danny?”

“No’m! I never will—in school!”

“Then you both may go.”

“Thank you,” mumbled the boys, as they found their caps and departed. Miss Riker smiled. She knew this had been the best “punish lesson” she could have set.

“Say, wasn’t she nice!” exclaimed Danny, when he and Bert were outside.

“Crickity grasshoppers, she sure was!” declared Bert. “I didn’t exactly mean to snap that cracker, anyhow.”

“I didn’t think you’d do it, even after I doubled-dared you,” remarked Danny.

“I was just going to make believe, but when my arm got going I couldn’t seem to stop it,” explained Bert. “Say, did it crack loud?”

“Loud? It was like a gun!” And both boys laughed.

Of course Bert had to tell his mother, for she asked why he was late coming from school. She warned him to be more careful and to pay better attention to his lessons, but she did not scold. She thought Miss Riker knew how to manage her pupils.

The next day was Friday, and when the hour for geography study came in Miss Riker’s room she rather surprised the pupils by saying:

“You need not take out your geographies this time.” Then, as she saw surprised looks cast at Bert she added: “It isn’t because of what happened yesterday. Bert isn’t going to crack any more snappers. But I’m going to teach you geography in a new way. We are all going out to Pine Hill and from there we can look down on Lake Metoka. We shall see little bays, capes, peninsulas, islands, and many other formations that you have been studying about in the geography class. Now we are really going to see them as they are in nature.”

You can imagine what delightful excitement there was then! To study outside the classroom! What a change! Miss Riker led forth the boys and girls, and, as they left the school yard, marching two by two as they did at fire drill, the teacher further surprised her pupils by saying:

“You may talk all you wish, but I’d rather you would talk about something connected with geography. If any of you see a brook that looks like a little river, tell the rest of us.”

More wonders! To be allowed to go out of the classroom in school hours and then to talk! The children could hardly believe it. Miss Riker heard Nan Bobbsey and Nellie Parks timidly whispering.

“You may talk out loud,” she said, smiling.

Was it possible? It was, as the boys and girls soon found out. And then, how they talked!

“I see a brook!” cried Nan, presently.

“Yes, and I see a pond that might almost be a lake,” added one of the other girls.

“Yes, and there’s an island in the lake,” put in Bert, quickly, and he pointed to a small heap of dirt in the center of the pond. This remark made everybody laugh.

“I see a cliff,” said another boy, and pointed to the edge of a steep hill.

From Pine Hill they could look down on the lake and could see many natural formations that, in miniature, resembled the larger ones told about in the geography. Miss Riker had the boys and girls name the different formations of land and water.

“It was the nicest lesson we ever had!” said Nan Bobbsey, at home that night.

“Dandy!” declared Bert. “I wish she’d take us fishing some time!”

“Maybe she will!” chuckled Mr. Bobbsey.

“Hush! Not so loud!” cautioned Mrs. Bobbsey, coming from a bedroom. “I’ve just gotten Baby May to sleep!”

The next day was Saturday, and of course there was no school.

“Though if it was all like the geography lesson yesterday I wouldn’t mind going to school on Saturdays,” said Bert, as he looked for his cap to go out to play.

“Neither would I,” agreed Nan. “Mother, may I take Baby May out in the baby carriage?” she asked.

“In a little while you and Flossie may wheel her,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. “I don’t like Flossie to take her alone, as she’s been teasing to do.”

“Well, I’m going over and play ball with the other boys,” announced Bert.

Just then the telephone rang.

“It’s your father,” announced Mrs. Bobbsey, after listening a moment. “He says,” she went on, “that he has to go to Menton on some business in the auto, and he wants to know if you two would like to ride with him,” and she looked at Bert and Nan. Flossie and Freddie were out in the yard playing.

“Oh, would we!” cried Nan, clasping her hands in joyful anticipation. “When is he coming?”

“I’d rather ride with dad than play ball,” declared Bert.

“You’re to go down to the lumberyard and he’ll wait for you there,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. “Don’t say anything about it to Flossie or Freddie, else they’ll tease to go, and I can’t let them.”

So Bert and Nan departed quietly by the side gate and were soon hurrying to their father’s office on the lumber dock that extended out a long way into Lake Metoka.

“What to you suppose daddy’s going over to Menton for?” asked Nan.

“Oh, he buys lumber there,” replied Bert, who had been to this neighboring city once or twice before with his father. “I guess that’s what he’s going to do this time.”

And this, the children learned when they reached the office, was exactly Mr. Bobbsey’s errand to Menton. This city was about fifteen miles from Lakeport.

“Well, children, I hope I didn’t take you away from your studies or your home work,” said Mr. Bobbsey, with a smile, as Nan and Bert walked up to where he waited in the car.

“Oh, Daddy! As if we’d study on Saturday!” cried Nan.

“Not me!” declared Bert.

“Then we’ll declare a holiday!” laughed their father. “All aboard!”

It was a pleasant day, the roads were good, and they had a delightful trip to Menton. Bert and Nan were treated to ice-cream soda in a drug store while their father did what business he had to look after. Then they started back.

As they drove past the Menton railroad station Nan suddenly caught hold of her father’s arm and exclaimed:

“Look! There she is again!”

“Who?” asked Mr. Bobbsey.

“That old lady—the one with the faded shawl and the green umbrella—the old woman who left Baby May on our doorstep!” gasped Nan excitedly.

“Where is she?” her father cried.

“Look! She’s just getting on the train,” said Nan, for a train was about to leave the station.

“Oh, I see her!” cried Bert. “It’s the same old woman!”

“I must stop her! I must speak to her!” cried Mr. Bobbsey. “It’s lucky you saw her! I say there! Hi, madam! I want to talk to you! Wait a minute!” he called loudly, as he drove the automobile as close to the track as he dared go.

Before Mr. Bobbsey could bring his automobile to a stop, and almost as soon as the old woman in the faded shawl was on the platform of one of the cars, the engine tooted twice and the train began to move.

“Oh, she’s going to get away!” exclaimed Bert.

“Stop the train!” cried Nan. “Somebody stop the train!”

Mr. Bobbsey brought his automobile to a standstill by a sudden pull on the emergency brake. Then he jumped out and ran swiftly across the depot platform toward the moving train.

“Wait a minute! Stop! I want to speak to you! I want that old lady in the faded shawl!” he cried, for now the strange old woman was out of sight, inside one of the cars.

“Look out, sir! Don’t try to get on that moving train!” cried one of the railroad men, stepping in front of Mr. Bobbsey. “It’s dangerous!”

“I don’t want to get on the train! I want to get a passenger off the train—the little old lady in the faded shawl,” explained Mr. Bobbsey.

“Sorry, sir, but it’s too late. The train’s going too fast and I can’t stop it,” the railroad man said.

And as Nan and Bert, seated in the automobile, watched, they saw the train gathering speed. It was carrying farther and farther away from them the strange woman—the woman who could solve the mystery of Baby May.

“Well, I guess I’m too late,” sighed Mr. Bobbsey, in disappointed tones as he watched the train disappear from sight around a curve. “If I had only been a minute or two sooner! But there’s no use worrying, I suppose,” he added.

“Is there any trouble?” asked the railroad man. “Was that lady your wife?”

“Oh, no,” answered Mr. Bobbsey, with a smile. “I just wanted to get some information from her. Where does that train go?” he asked. “And where does it stop first?”

“It goes to Brockton,” the railroad man replied. “And the first stop is Miles Junction. Were you thinking of trying to catch up to it in your auto?”

“Oh, no. But I think I will send a telegram to the conductor and ask him about the old woman. He’ll surely be able to pick her out from the other passengers. I want to get her name and address so I can talk to her. There is something of great importance I want to ask her.”

“It would be a good idea to telegraph on ahead to the conductor,” said the railroad man. “The train dispatcher will do the telegraphing for you. The conductor’s name is Jerry Simpson. The old woman didn’t rob you, or anything like that, did she?”

“Oh, no!” laughed Mr. Bobbsey. “Nothing like that!” But he did not tell why he wanted to find out who she was. There was no need of mentioning Baby May.

“What are you going to do, Daddy?” asked Bert, as his father returned to the automobile, the engine of which was still running.

Mr. Bobbsey told the children his plans, adding:

“While I am waiting for the train conductor to telegraph back to me, I’ll make some inquiries around here to see if I can find out anything about the old woman.”

“And shall we have dinner when we get back home?” asked Nan.

“Dinner! Good gracious! Here it is nearly noon!” exclaimed Mr. Bobbsey, looking at his watch. “Well, we can get a lunch here while waiting for an answer to my telegram. And I guess I’d better telephone your mother to let her know we shall be delayed. This is the first chance I’ve had to get on the trail of the strange old woman, and I don’t want to miss it.”

Mr. Bobbsey sent a telegram to Miles Junction for Jerry Simpson, conductor of the train, asking him to wire back the name and address of the old woman in the faded shawl. She did not have the green umbrella with her this time, and of course the big basket, in which Baby May had been left, was at the Bobbsey home.

In his telegram Mr. Bobbsey asked the conductor to send word back in care of the train dispatcher at Menton. This having been done, the twins’ father began to make inquiries of railroad men and others about the strange woman.

None of them knew her, and few of them had noticed her coming to the station to take the train. So his questions did not bring him much information.

“We must wait for an answer to the telegram,” said Mr. Bobbsey.

“And can we eat now?” asked Bert. “I’m mighty hungry.”

“I’m hungry, too,” added Nan.

“You certainly shall eat!” laughed their father, and he took them to a restaurant.

They had to wait nearly an hour for the answer to come back from the conductor, as the Miles Junction stop of the train was many miles away. But finally, as the three sat in the station, waiting, the train dispatcher came out of his little office, where a hundred clocks seemed ticking. In his hand he held a paper.

“Are you Mr. Bobbsey?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied the twins’ father.

“Oh, yes, I remember you. You sent a message to Mr. Simpson on train thirty-two. Well, here’s his answer.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “Any charge?”

“No charge.”

The dispatcher went back to his clicking instruments. Mr. Bobbsey read the message to himself.

“What does it say, Daddy?” Bert ventured to ask.

“Will she come back and tell us about the baby?” Nan wanted to know. “Will she take Baby May away from us?”

“This isn’t a message from the strange woman—it’s from the train conductor,” answered Mr. Bobbsey. “It says that the old woman in the faded shawl got off at Hankertown. Um! I thought the train didn’t stop this side of Miles Junction, but it must have done so.”

“Where’s Hankertown?” asked Bert.

“About fifteen miles from here,” his father said. “Wait until I ask the dispatcher about this.”

The dispatcher, who was also the ticket seller explained that sometimes the train stopped at way stations, before reaching Miles Junction, in case there were passengers to get off or on.

“And that’s what must have happened in this case,” the dispatcher gave as his opinion. “The party you inquired about must have had a ticket to Hankertown, and that’s why she got off there. Is there anything more I can do for you?”

“Thank you—no,” answered Mr. Bobbsey. “Come, children,” he called to Bert and Nan.

“Where are you going?” they asked him.

“I’m going to keep on after the little old lady. I must find her! We can go to Hankertown by auto. It’s only fifteen miles.”

“It isn’t as far as that if you go by the back road,” the train dispatcher told them. “It’s fifteen miles by railroad, about the same by the main highway, but much less by the back road.”

“Is it a good road?” questioned Mr. Bobbsey.

“Fair,” answered the dispatcher. “You’ll make time if you take the back road.”

“That’s what I’ll do, then,” said Mr. Bobbsey.

He had already telephoned to his wife, telling her that they had caught sight of the strange woman who had deserted the baby.

“I’m going to make her tell the secret!” said Mr. Bobbsey.

“What about Nan and Bert?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey, over the wire.

“I’ll keep them with me,” their father replied. “They’ll be all right—don’t worry. Are Flossie and Freddie all right?”

“Yes; only Freddie fell in a mud puddle and pulled Flossie in after him! They’re sights, but that’s nothing new!”

“Is the baby all right?”

“Oh, yes, she’s a little darling. I almost hope we never have to give her up—but of course we must do what is right.”

So it was that Mr. Bobbsey with Bert and Nan started for Hankertown in the automobile, trying to arrive as soon as possible after the train had left the strange, old woman there. But, as the train had gone on to Miles Junction before the conductor received the telegram, the old woman might have disappeared again.

“Do you think she lives in Hankertown?” asked Nan, as the automobile dashed along the country road.

“She may,” answered Mr. Bobbsey. “Even if she doesn’t, some one there will be sure to know her and we can find out about her from them. At least I hope so.”

“I do, too,” murmured Nan. “But I love Baby May!”

“She’s awfully cute!” exclaimed Bert. “You ought to see her grab hold of my nose! She holds on so tight!” And he laughed at the remembrance.

Mr. Bobbsey was driving the car along at as fast a pace as was safe, and they were about half way to Hankertown when Bert noticed little jets of vapor coming from the radiator.

“Look, Dad!” he exclaimed. “She’s steaming!”

“Whew!” whistled Mr. Bobbsey. “I’m out of water! Must stop and get some right away! It won’t do to overheat the engine!”

He stopped the car, and at once a loud hissing was heard while from beneath the car a big cloud of steam poured out.

“Oh! are we on fire?” screamed Nan.

“Don’t be silly, Nan!” exclaimed Bert, as he held his sister back. She seemed about to leap from the car, which Mr. Bobbsey had already left.

“What do you mean—silly?” demanded Nan, a bit angrily.

“Because the car isn’t on fire—is it, Daddy?” he appealed to his father.

“Of course not!” replied Mr. Bobbsey. “It was stupid of me, but I forgot to put water in the radiator. What little there was in there has become so hot that it has boiled and turned into steam. Now the steam is simply escaping through the overflow pipe, which comes out beneath the front axle. Here, Nan, come and look at it, and you’ll know what it is the next time.”

“Oh,” murmured Bert’s sister, feeling the least little bit ashamed of herself because she had been frightened. Then she got out, Bert helping her politely, and looked to where the steam in a white cloud was hissing its way out of a small pipe.

“No danger at all, if you don’t run too long after your water begins to boil,” explained Mr. Bobbsey. “But I’ve got to get a fresh supply. I wonder if there’s a roadside spring anywhere around here?”

“I’ll look,” offered Bert.

“So’ll I,” chimed in Nan.

“Well, then,” agreed their father, “one of you go a little way up the road and the other a little way down the road. Don’t go too far, if you don’t find water. I’ll stay here by the car and take the cap off the radiator. That will let the steam out more quickly.”

The two Bobbsey twins separated, going in different directions along the lonely country road.

“Doesn’t seem to be much chance of getting water here,” thought Bert, as he trudged along. “It’s as dry as a desert.”

This was true. There had been no rain for some time—not more than little showers since the big storm in which Baby May came—and the grass and weeds along the road were dry and dusty.

Nan, too, looked in vain for a spring or a brook where her father could scoop up water in the folding canvas pail he carried under the seat of the automobile.

“I wonder what we’ll do if daddy can’t get water,” Nan was thinking, when she rounded a turn in the road and saw, in the midst of a clump of apple trees, a small house almost like a log cabin save that it was built of boards instead of logs.

“Oh, I guess some one must live there,” thought Nan. “And if they do they must have a well of water. I’ll go and ask, to make sure, before I go back and tell daddy.”

She made her way toward the weather-beaten, paintless hut, going slowly for fear some savage dog might rush out at her. But none came, and she opened the gate. The gate swung shut after her. It was pulled by a piece of iron fastened to a bit of clothesline for a weight.

“Who’s comin’ in my yard?” a shrill voice demanded—the voice of an old woman, Nan decided, for she could see no one. For a moment, she thought it might be the woman in the faded shawl, the woman who had deserted the baby. Was it possible that little May had come from here?

“Who’s comin’ in my yard?” the voice went on. Nan felt that she must answer.

“If you please, could we get some water—for the auto?” faltered Nan. “It’s boiling over—I mean the auto is—and it needs cool water, and—”

She stopped suddenly as an old woman came around the path that twined itself around the house. One look showed Nan that it was not the little old woman of the faded shawl. This was quite a different person, in fact.

“What is it you want?” demanded the old woman sharply.

“Some water, if you please, for my father’s auto. It’s just down the road a little way,” replied Nan.

“Oh, water! I s’pose ye heard of my spring, ain’t ye?” said the woman, in a rasping voice.

“Your spring? No, I didn’t know you had a spring,” answered Nan. “But I thought maybe you might have a well, and—”

“I ain’t got a well; but I’ve a fine deep spring, an’ the water’s as cold as ice. But, say, look here! Did you ever throw stones at my frog?” The old woman asked this question sharply.

“Your frog! No!” gasped Nan, wondering whether or not she might have to do with a crazy person. “I never saw your frog,” she added.

“Oh, all right then,” said the woman, more gently. “Girls ain’t so bad as boys. It’s the pesky boys that’s allers throwin’ stones at my frog. He’s the biggest bullfrog you ever saw. Him an’ me’s friends, an’ I never let anybody get a drink from my spring that has throwed stones at my frog. Seein’ as how you ain’t, you can have all the water you want. Come, I’ll show you where the spring is.”

She started to lead the way down a weed-tangled path at the side of the house, but Nan drew back. She did not exactly like this old woman with that queer story about a giant frog.

“I’ll—I’ll go call my father,” said Nan. “He’ll get the water in a pail, thank you. I’ll call my father,” and she turned away.

“Your father never throwed stones at my frog, did he?” demanded the old woman sharply. Nan decided she was so queer that she must be a hermit—living all alone in the half-tumbled-down hut.

“Of course not!” exclaimed Nan. “Daddy wouldn’t throw stones at any animal.”

“Wa-all, mebby he did when he was a boy. But I’ll let him get some water from my spring,” said the old woman.

Before Nan could reach the swinging gate she heard her father calling, and Bert, too, added his voice, saying:

“Nan! Nan! Did you find any water?”

“Yes, there’s a spring here,” Nan replied, “But—”

She was going to add something about the frog, but she did not have time, for her father and Bert at that moment opened the gate. They caught sight of the old woman.

For a moment, Bert said later, he thought she was the one for whom they were searching. But he had no time to say anything for no sooner had the old woman caught sight of Bert, than she exclaimed:

“Oh, ho! There’s a boy! A pesky boy! Did you ever throw stones at my frog in the spring? If ye did—”

“No, I never did!” declared Bert.

“Are ye sure?”

“Sure!” he repeated, wondering what it all meant.

“What’s this about a frog in the spring?” asked Mr. Bobbsey, smiling, for he saw that he had to do with a queer person.

“It’s my frog, Ebenezer,” explained the old woman. “The biggest bullfrog that ever lived. I’ll show him to you and let you get water from my spring if you never throwed stones at him.”

“I’m sure we never did, for I have never been on this road before,” answered Mr. Bobbsey.

The old woman looked at him sharply, then at Bert; and, as if satisfied that they were telling the truth, she said:

“Wa-all, all right. Come on and bring your blickie.”

“My blickie?” exclaimed Mr. Bobbsey. “What’s that?”

“Your pail—your bucket—whatever you call it. I calls ’em blickies. That’s what I calls ’em—blickies,” said the old woman. “It’s Dutch—Pennsylvania Dutch,” she explained. “I’m Pennsylvania Dutch.”

“Oh,” murmured Mr. Bobbsey, making a side motion to Nan and Bert to tell them not to laugh.

The old woman shuffled along, leading the way down the weed- and vine-obstructed path until she pointed to a stone-lined hole in the ground, near a small shed.

“There’s the spring,” she said. “Help yourself. Fill your blickie,” and she motioned to the canvas pail in Mr. Bobbsey’s hand. “But it’s the queerest blickie I ever see. And don’t you bother my frog!” she warned.

Mr. Bobbsey and the children hardly knew whether or not to believe that there was a frog. But when Mr. Bobbsey leaned over the edge of the deep, clear spring, to fill the canvas pail, he saw, sitting on the bottom, in the clean, white sand, the largest frog he had ever beheld.

“Look, children!” he said. “It is a giant frog!”

And so it was—an immense green bullfrog, that looked at them with its bulging, fishy eyes from the bottom of the pool. Perhaps the water magnified the frog, making it appear larger than it really was, but it certainly seemed immense.

“That’s my pet frog,” mumbled the old woman. “I don’t let no boys stone him if I can help it, but sometimes I can’t help it. They peg rocks at him when he sits on the edge of the spring. An’ if I ketch them boys—wa-all, if they do it once they never can drink from my spring again.”

“What boys are they?” asked Mr. Bobbsey, as he filled his canvas pail, the frog not seeming to be disturbed.

“Oh, pesky boys—boys what go up in the hills to take their cows to pasture or drive ’em home. Pesky boys,” answered the old woman.

“Well, I never stoned any frogs,” said Bert.

“Then you must be one of the few good boys,” said the old woman, and she gave a half-smile, for the first time in many days it seemed.

“Thank you for the water,” said Mr. Bobbsey, as he started off with the dripping pail.

“Ef the children want any there’s a dipper in the spring house,” said the old woman.

“I’d like a drink,” said Bert.

“Oh,” murmured Nan. “Would you take a drink from the spring where that big frog is?”

“Sure!” answered her brother. “A frog is as clean as a fish, and all the water we drink has fishes in it.”

“Does it, Daddy?” asked Nan.

“Of course,” laughed Mr. Bobbsey. “The frog doesn’t hurt the water any.”

“Then I’ll take a drink,” decided Nan. And they all drank, finding the water cool—almost ice-cold, in fact—and delicious.

“Come ag’in any time ye like as long as ye don’t stone my frog,” invited the old woman.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Bobbsey.

The automobile was much cooler by the time they went back to it, and pouring the cold spring water into the radiator enabled them to go on without further delay. Bert told Nan that, when he could find no water on his part of the road, he went back to the car and Mr. Bobbsey, and then the two of them went in search of Nan, who had walked a bit farther than her brother.

“She was a queer old character,” said Mr. Bobbsey, as he drove the machine along toward Hankertown. “Lives all alone, I guess, except for her giant frog.”

Later he learned that the woman, while considered partly crazy, was a good and harmless old soul with a horror of boys who might stone her frog—as, alas, many of the lads did.

Without further mishap Hankertown was reached, and Mr. Bobbsey decided to begin his inquiries at the railroad station, since it was there the little old lady in the faded shawl had left the train.

The station at Hankertown was a small one—there did not seem to be much business done there—and Mr. Bobbsey decided that the agent would probably remember having seen the old lady. He might even know her name and where she lived.

But when the twins’ father had told the agent what was wanted, asking if he knew the strange woman, the agent said:

“No, I can’t say I know her. But I do remember seeing her get off the train. She had a shawl, just as you describe.”

“Which way did she go?” asked Mr. Bobbsey. “Does she live in the village?”

“I can’t say, I’m sure. I don’t know where she lives. But she went up the wood road after she left the train.”

“Which is the wood road?” Mr. Bobbsey wanted to know. “It is very important that I find this old woman, or I should not trouble you with so many questions,” he said.

“Oh, that’s all right,” answered the station agent, good-naturedly. “I’m used to answering questions. That’s why I’m here. The wood road is that one crossing the track and going up though the woods,” he explained, pointing.

Then Mr. Bobbsey and the children noticed it—a narrow, winding road, half hidden amid the trees.

“Where does it lead to?” asked Mr. Bobbsey.

“Well, if you keep on it long enough, and don’t turn off on any of the side trails, it will take you to Coopertown.”

“Hum—yes. I know that place. They make a lot of barrels there,” said Mr. Bobbsey.

“But it’s thirty miles to Coopertown, and there are a lot of little villages in between,” said the agent. “But be sure to keep to the main road.”

“I will,” replied Mr. Bobbsey. “Thank you.”

He was about to start on again in the automobile with the children, hoping to overtake the strange woman, when Bert saw a lunch wagon not far from the station.

“Daddy, I’m hungry!” he cried.

“So’m I,” added Nan.

“Yes? Well, I could eat a sandwich myself,” Mr. Bobbsey said. “I’ll get some at the wagon, and some bottles of soda, and we’ll eat as we go along. I don’t want to delay, for that old woman may disappear again.”

He bought some things at the lunch wagon, and started once more, driving through the woods. The road was a fair one, of dirt, but so narrow that the branches of the trees on either side brushed the children as they passed.

“I wouldn’t like to meet a big truck now,” said Mr. Bobbsey, as they reached a very narrow place and squeezed through. “There is no room to pass.”

But they met no other cars, and heard none. It was very still and quiet in the road, save for the chugging of their own motor and the occasional notes of birds.

“Daddy, it’s getting late, isn’t it?” asked Nan, when they had gone several miles, with never a sign of the old woman. They had not even passed a house at which they might inquire.

“My gracious, it is late—nearly six o’clock!” exclaimed Mr. Bobbsey, looking at his watch. “We’ve been traveling the best part of the day. Whew! I don’t know whether we’d better go on or not. It doesn’t look very promising ahead,” he added, as he slowed down the car. “We’re getting deeper into the woods all the while.”

“Do you think the old woman came along here?” asked Bert.

“It’s hard to say, Son,” answered his father. “I’ll keep on a bit farther, and then, if we don’t catch up to her, I’ll turn back.”

They went on for another mile, and then, finding a good place to turn, Mr. Bobbsey did so.

“Guess we’ll have to give it up,” he said. “That agent spoke of several towns or villages between Hankertown and Coopertown, but we haven’t seen a single house. Yes, I’ll turn back.”

It was getting dusk now, and Mr. Bobbsey turned on the lights. He peered from side to side of the road, and tooted his horn at curves. Suddenly Nan exclaimed:

“Daddy, we didn’t pass that big rock before. Look!”

“That’s right,” her father admitted, as they swung around a boulder as large as a small house. “Whew, this is bad! I was afraid of this!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Bert.

“I’m afraid we took the wrong road,” his father replied.

“Are we lost—in the woods?” faltered Nan.

“It begins to look that way,” her father, answered. “Yes, it surely begins to look as though we were lost!”

Mr. Bobbsey brought the automobile to a stop not far from the great rock which Nan had first caught sight of. She did not remember to have passed it earlier in the trip, and this fact caused her to think they had come back by another road. And she was right.

“What are you going to do, Daddy?” asked Bert, as he saw his father getting out of the car.

“I’m going to look around a bit,” was the answer. “There may be a sign near this rock, telling us where we are. I don’t very often get lost, but I suppose I was thinking so much of the strange woman we are after that I didn’t pay proper heed to the road.”

“S’posing there isn’t any sign?” asked Nan.

“Well, we’ll wait and see whether there is or not before we look for trouble,” laughed Mr. Bobbsey. His laugh made Nan and Bert feel better.

There was still a little, lingering light where the trees did not quite meet in an arch overhead in the road, and by this faint glow Mr. Bobbsey looked around the rock for some sign that would tell him which direction to take to get to the nearest town.

But he saw no sign. The big rock jutted out from the side of a hill, around which the wood road turned, but there was no signboard or post—nothing to tell travelers where they were.

“Um,” said Mr. Bobbsey to himself, as he came back to the automobile where Nan and Bert waited. “This isn’t very pleasant.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Bert, as he watched his father turning on the ignition to get ready to start the car.

“I’m going to drive on a little way and see if we don’t get somewhere, or reach a cross road that will take us to a town,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “If I don’t find one within a mile or two I’ll turn and go the other way—back from here,” and he pointed over the road they had just traveled.

“I hope you find a road,” murmured Nan. “I don’t want to stay in these woods all night.”

“Crickity grasshoppers! I think it would be fun,” laughed Bert. “Look, we have plenty of sandwiches left!”

He showed several in a bag.

“Perhaps it’s a good thing we have them,” said his father. “There is no restaurant around here, I’m sure.”

“We have three bottles of soda water left, too,” went on Bert. He had bought more than was really needed for lunch.

Mr. Bobbsey drove the car carefully along the road. It was rapidly growing darker, and the lights of the automobile made two gleaming paths through the gloom.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything down this way,” said the twins’ father, after going about two miles. “Now we’ll try it in the other direction from the big rock.”

But that plan, likewise, amounted to nothing. Not a cross road did they see which they might take and so get to some town or village. And Mr. Bobbsey did not want to go too far back lest he get in a worse place than near the great stone.

“Well, we seem to be in the midst of a deserted wilderness,” he said, as once more he drove the car back to the big stone. “I guess we’d better stay here.”

“Oh! All night?” faltered Nan.

“Well, it won’t be light until morning,” her father said, with a laugh. “And we’d only get more confused and lost, if that’s possible, traveling in the darkness. Cheer up, little girl, it won’t be so bad!”

“I think it will be sport!” declared Bert. “We can sleep in the car, and we’ve got something to eat. Can I make a campfire, Daddy?”

“No, I hardly think we will need that, and you might set fire to the woods—they are very dry. We have nothing to cook, and the car lamps will give us light enough.”

“No, we haven’t anything to cook—only some sandwiches to eat,” murmured Bert. “But it’s lucky we have them!” he added.

“Yes, I think it is,” his father said.

Mr. Bobbsey backed the car under an overhanging ledge of the great rock off the road, so that, if necessary, other cars could pass them in the night.

“But I hardly think other cars will come along,” said the children’s father. “I guess ours is the only auto within fifteen miles.”

“How shall we ever get home?” asked Nan.

“Oh, I can see to find my way out well enough when morning comes,” said her father. “It’s just that I don’t want to drive on a strange road after dark, and in the forest. Now then, let’s get ready to camp out for the night.”

“What will mother think when we don’t come home?” asked Nan.

“She may worry a little,” Mr. Bobbsey replied. “But she will know you children are all right as long as you are with me. She’ll guess what has happened—that we have either had a breakdown or are lost. Your mother won’t worry too much, I think.”

Mr. Bobbsey’s automobile was a large touring car, and there would be plenty of room for Bert and Nan to cuddle up and get what sleep they could on the back seats. Luckily there was a robe on the rail in the rear, and this could be put over the children to keep them warm. For, though it was almost summer, the nights were still cool.

“And I’ll put up the side curtains,” decided Mr. Bobbsey.

“Where will you sleep?” asked Bert.

“Oh, I’ll curl up on the front seat. It won’t be the first time I’ve been out all night in an auto,” laughed Mr. Bobbsey.

With the side curtains on the car it really was snug and comfortable, and they would be protected even in the case of rain. But they could catch glimpses of the stars and did not think there would be a storm.

“Now for our supper!” cried Mr. Bobbsey cheerfully.

He divided the sandwiches, giving Nan and Bert the most, and the bottles of soda water were opened.

“I’ve a cake of chocolate, too,” said Bert, fishing up a square of milk chocolate from one pocket.

Night now settled down over the woods where the Bobbsey twins—at least, half of them—were lost. They ate and drank and then, curled up on the back seat, Nan and Bert listened to stories their father told them.

At first the children asked questions or made comments as the stories were told. But, after a while, Mr. Bobbsey noticed that the questions were shorter and farther apart. Soon he heard Bert and Nan breathing heavily.

“I believe they’re asleep,” he said softly.

He looked back, and, by the light of the dashboard lamp, he saw the twins slumbering. Mr. Bobbsey pulled the robe over them. Then, making himself as comfortable as he could in the front seat, he prepared to pass the night. He did not at once fall asleep, for he was thinking of many things.

“Queer how I got on the wrong road—for that’s what I must have done,” he mused. “And it’s queer that the old woman in the faded shawl would come up this lonely road. I wonder who she is? I wonder why she deserted Baby May?”

He could find no answers to these questions, so, after a while, he began to doze off. Before he knew it his eyes were closing, and he was slumbering.

But it was not for long. Suddenly he sat up, he felt the auto jar, as though some one had brushed against it, or had tried to get in. Instantly Mr. Bobbsey was awake and sitting up.

“Who’s there?” demanded Mr. Bobbsey, in a whisper, for he did not want to awaken Nan and Bert, who were still sleeping.

There was no answer, so he turned on the bright headlights of the car. As he did so there was a scurrying in the underbrush, and in the powerful gleam of the lamps he saw a small animal scurrying away amid the trees.

“A fox or a stray dog,” decided Mr. Bobbsey. “It must have knocked against the wheel and jarred me awake. It’s just as well the children don’t know it.”

He turned off the lights and again composed himself to sleep. He was dreaming that he was trying to catch the big frog in the spring of the queer woman when, through his dream, he seemed to hear a voice saying:

“Daddy! Daddy, wake up! I hear a noise!”

Mr. Bobbsey sat up with a start, to find Nan leaning over the back of the front seat and gently shaking him by the shoulder.

“Eh? What’s the matter?” murmured Mr. Bobbsey, sleepily.

“I—I heard a noise!” whispered Nan. “Listen!”

Faintly, through the darkness of the night, came a crackling sound, as though some large animal was approaching the car.