“Not a chance,” replied Uncle Dick, laughing heartily.  “But it does look as though we may have to lay by for a night, or perhaps a night and a day, before we can get on to Cliffdale, which is our station.”

“In a hotel!” cried Betty.  “Won’t that be fun?”

“Perhaps not so much fun.  Some of these country-town hotels up here in the woods are run in a more haphazard way than a lumber camp.  And what you get to eat will come out of a can in all probability.”

The boys groaned in unison at this, and even Betty looked woebegone.

“I wish you wouldn’t talk about eating, Uncle Dick.  Do you suppose we will catch up with that dining car?”

“I do not think we shall.  But there is an eating room at the junction we are coming to.  We can buy it out.  I only hope there will be milk to be had for the little folks.  There is at least one baby aboard.  It’s in the next car.”

“But we’ll get to this place we’re going to by morning, shan’t we?” cried Bobby, very much excited.

“We’re two hours late already I understand,” said Mr. Gordon.  “We have little to fear, however I fancy if the storm does not hold up they will not try to push past the junction until morning.  We’ve got to sleep in the car anyway; and if we are on short rations for a few hours it certainly will do you boys and girls little harm.  At Cliffdale——­”

“Oh, Uncle Dick!” suddenly exclaimed Betty, “that is where Mr. Bolter has sent that beautiful black horse that he bought in England.”

“Oh, indeed?  I heard of that mare.  To Cliffdale?  I believe there is a stockfarm there.  It is some distance from my friend Canary’s camp, however.”

“Do you suppose that girl got there?” whispered Bobby to Betty.

“Even if she did, how disappointed she must be,” Betty rejoined.  “I am awfully sorry for Ida Bellethorne.”

“I don’t know,” said Bobby slowly.  “I’ve been thinking.  Suppose she did find your beautiful locket and—­and appropriate it for her own use,” finished Bobby rather primly.

“You mean steal it,” said Betty promptly.  “No.  I don’t think she did.  She didn’t seem to be that sort of person.  Do you know, the more I think of her the more I consider that Mrs. Staples would be capable of doing that.”

“Oh, Betty!  Finding and keeping your locket?”

Betty nodded with her lips pursed soberly.  “I didn’t like that woman,” she said.

“Neither did I,” cried Bobby, easily influenced by her friend’s opinion.  “I didn’t like her a bit.”

“But, of course, we don’t know a thing about it,” sighed Betty.  “I do not suppose we should blame either of them, or anybody else.  We have no evidence.  I guess, Bobby, I am the only one to blame, after all.”

“Well, don’t mind, Betty dear,” Bobby said comfortingly.  “I believe the locket will turn up.  I told Daddy and he will telephone to the stores once in a while and see if it has been found.  And, of course, we have no particular reason to think that you dropped it in Mrs. Staples’ shop.”