"
"How odd!" exclaimed Mollie. "Shadow Valley is not far from here."
"And the queer girl evidently dropped that paper," declared Betty,
examining the scrap. "Well, the mystery deepens, but I do not see that
we can do anything to solve it."
They talked it over for some time, but could come to no other
conclusion. Grace saved the scrap of paper, and soon, having bidden
good-bye to Mrs. Meckelburn, they were on their way again, with Mollie
at the wheel.
Gradually their nerves, upset by their adventure, resumed their poise
under the influence of the fresh air and sunshine, and the gloomy
atmosphere raised by the girl's accident, passed away.
They had made the turn into a road that would lead them to Deepdale when
they came in sight of a man standing in the road beside a small, and
rather gaudily painted wagon. He seemed to be looking in the dust for
something, and Mollie, seeing him, slowed up, remarking:
"Perhaps he has a break-down. Let's ask if we can help him."
The appearance of the man, in some ways, was enough to invite the
confidence of four girls, and in others was not. He had long, and very
white hair, fluffy and wavy, and was dressed in a shabby suit of black,
but his face had hard, cruel lines in it, as though he were in the habit
of imposing his will on others.
A look at his wagon showed the character of his trade, for it was
brilliantly lettered with such devices and mottoes as--"Bennington's
Hair is All His Own.
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