“You’re right.  Give me a check for a hundred and fifty, and I’ll turn over to you the forged check and quash further proceedings.”

Kenneth hesitated a moment.  He detested the grasping disposition that would endeavor to take advantage of his evident desire to help young Gates.  He had hoped to find Mr. Marshall a man of sympathy; but the manager was as cold as an icicle.

Beth, uneasy at his silence, nudged him.

“Pay it, Ken,” she whispered.

“Very well, Mr. Marshall,” said he, “I accept your terms.”

The check was written and handed over, and Marshall took the forged check from his safe and delivered it, with the other papers in the case, to Mr. Forbes.  He also wrote a note to his lawyer directing him to withdraw the prosecution.

Kenneth and Beth went away quite happy with their success, and the manager stood in his little window and watched them depart.  There was a grim smile of amusement on his shrewd face.

“Of all the easy marks I ever encountered,” muttered Mr. Marshall, “this young Forbes is the easiest.  Why, he’s a fool, that’s what he is.  He might have had that forged check for the face of it, if he’d been sharp.  You wouldn’t catch ’Rast Hopkins doing such a fool stunt.  Not in a thousand years!”

Meantime Beth was pressing Kenneth’s arm as she sat beside him and saying happily: 

“I’m so glad, Ken—­so glad!  And to think we can save all that misery and despair by the payment of a hundred and fifty dollars!  And now we must find the girl.”

“Yes,” replied the boy, cheerfully, “we must find Lucy.”

CHAPTER XI

A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

A woman was sitting in a low room, engaged in knitting.  Her feet were stretched out toward a small fire that smouldered in an open hearth.  She wore a simple calico gown, neat and well-fitting, and her face bore traces of much beauty that time and care had been unable wholly to efface.

Suddenly she paused in her work, her head turned slightly to one side to listen.

“Come in, sir,” she called in a soft but distinct voice; “come in, miss.”

So Kenneth and Beth entered at the half-open porch door and advanced into the room.

“Is this Mrs. Rogers?” asked Beth, looking at the woman curiously.  The woman’s eyes were closed, but the lashes fell in graceful dark curves over her withered cheeks.  The girl wondered how she had been able to know her visitors’ sex so accurately.

“Yes, I am Mrs. Rogers,” said the sweet, sad voice.  “And I think you are one of the young ladies from Elmhurst—­perhaps the one Will talked to.”

“You are right, Mrs. Rogers.  I am Elizabeth DeGraf.”

“And your companion—­is it Mr. Forbes?” the woman asked.

“Yes, madam,” replied Kenneth, astonished to find Will’s wife speaking with so much refinement and gracious ease.