“Yes, things do happen that seem anything but likely,” Dorothy admitted.  “And I do hope that such will be the case this time.  I wish we knew!”

“We had a great time in Dalton,” said Nat, “the day we went over to see the old place—­your old place, Dorothy.  The major asked us to go in to look after a leak in the roof, and just as we went into the old plumbing shop we heard a racket.  It seems that a fellow named Mortimer Morrison, a stage-struck chap, played a part on the local stage, and while delivering his lines he gave his audience a treat—­the real thing in tragics.  He went crazy—­wild, stark, staring mad!  He was an escaped sanitariumite—­he got out, found the stage at Dalton, and was having a gay old time when the——­” Nat suddenly stopped.  “What’s the matter, coz?” he asked.

Dorothy was sitting on the rustic bench, at the side of the old corn crib, and she went pale as her cousin told the story.  Cologne was beside her, and, as Nat asked what the matter was, Cologne grasped Dorothy’s trembling hand.

“What, Dorothy?”

“Why the—­man!  That man!  He is the one who saved the team—­the one who wrote the letter to Tavia.  I found a part of it.  She never told me, but it blew open at—­my very feet.  And that name was on the piece of paper!”

“Tavia know that—­loon!” Ned exclaimed.

“We all knew him—­if he is the same one,” declared Cologne, for Dorothy was too agitated to speak.  “We happened to get in trouble with a hay wagon, and an old team of horses, and he helped us out.  Come to think of it he did act queer!”

“And he is around here—­now?” asked Nat.

“Yes, I saw some one the other day whom I am sure could be no one else.  He had the most peculiar walk.  Did you see him in Dalton, Nat?”

“I was just going to tell you that while we were in the plumbing shop a fellow sauntered by.  He wore a hat—­like a cowboy, and otherwise looked queer.  Well, when the plumber sighted him he rushed to the ’phone and called up the only officer in Dalton—­Tavia’s father, and told him the lunatic was just sauntering down the road.  But from last accounts he was still sauntering—­the squire didn’t overhaul him.”

“And likely he was just wise enough to get far away,” commented Ned.  “Now why on earth would Tavia have anything to do with a specimen of that kind?”

“It would be impossible to guess to what trick he might resort in order to get Tavia to meet him, or to even become interested in his stage schemes.  You know Tavia has a very pardonable weakness for anything theatrical,” said Dorothy.

“All Tavia’s weaknesses are pardonable, as far as you are concerned, coz,” ventured Ned.

“But the hunt,” interrupted Jack.  “We had better get at it.  The girl we malign may actually——­” He looked at Dorothy and so left the surmise unsaid.

An hour later Ned and Nat, with Jack and Claud, started out in the Firebird, it having been decided that it would be best for all the boys to go together in the auto, as they could then cover any amount of ground, and not have to worry about Dorothy and Cologne.  The two girls went their way in the cart, old Jeff, the horse, being looked upon as quite a competent guide.