“I guess there’s some mistake,” said the man; “I guess your uncle John—­”

“No, there wasn’t any mistake, for he telegraphed to Uncle Tom.  He must have forgotten.”

“But your uncle doesn’t—­”

“What is it, James?  What is wanted?” interrupted some one here.  The “some one” was a big, tall gentleman coming down the stairs, whom Ally, as she looked up in the rather confusing half light of the lower hall, at once took for her uncle, and rushing forward she ran up to meet him, crying,—­

“Oh, Uncle John!  Uncle John!  I was so scared not to find you at the station, and I came up here all alone on the street car!”

But in the very next instant she started back and gasped:  “But—­but it isn’t—­you’re not—­you’re not Uncle John!  Where is he, oh, where is he?”

“You’ve made a mistake, my little girl!” exclaimed the gentleman,—­“a mistake in the house.  This isn’t your uncle John’s, but—­”

“Not Uncle John’s?  Why—­why—­this is 999!” interrupted Ally, tremulously.

“Yes; but—­”

“Oh! oh!” cried poor Ally, as a fresh flash of memory overcame her, “that must be the—­the—­” She was going to say, “the old Beacon Street number,” when, confused and dismayed, she gave another step backward, her foot slipped, and she fell headlong to the foot of the stairs, where she lay white and motionless, not a sigh or moan escaping her as she was lifted and carried into the parlor.

CHAPTER III.

The sun was shining brightly into the pretty new dining-room on Marlborough Street where Uncle John lived, and swinging in its beams a great gray parrot named Peter kept calling out, “Ally’s come, Ally’s come! give her a kiss! give her a kiss!”

The room was empty when the parrot began; but presently Uncle John and Aunt Kate came in.  At sight of them the parrot screamed, “Hello! hello!” and then repeated louder than ever, “Ally’s come!  Ally’s come! give her a kiss! give her a kiss!”

“For pity’s sake, put the bird out!” exclaimed Uncle John.  “I can’t stand that now!”

“Yes, put him out, do!” said Aunt Kate to the servant who was just then bringing in the coffee.

In a few moments the three daughters of the family—­Laura and Maud and Mary—­appeared.

“Have you heard anything about her this morning?” asked the eldest,—­Laura,—­as she took her seat at table.

Uncle John shook his head.

“And the police haven’t got a clew yet?”

“No, nor the detectives.”

“What I can’t understand is why she didn’t wait in the ladies’ room until you came, papa.  She might have known you would come sometime.”

“We don’t know yet that she got as far as Boston,” said Mrs. Fleming.

“Why, Uncle Tom’s telegram in answer to papa’s that he saw her off on the 11.30 train proves that.”