“Father,” said King, his eyes shining bright beneath his tousled hair, “I’ve been rummaging in Midget’s room.  I thought I might find out something to help us.  And she’s taken her pocketbook, and the gold piece Uncle Steve gave her last Christmas.  I know, because I know where she always kept it,—­and it’s gone.”

“Well, King,” said his father, thoughtfully, “what do you make out from that?”

“Only that she has gone somewhere especial.  I mean somewhere to spend that money,—­not just for a walk on the beach, or down to the pier.”

“That’s encouraging,” said Cousin Jack, “for if she went away on some special errand, she’s more likely to be safe and sound, somewhere.  Did you notice anything else missing, King?”

“Not a thing.  And you know how wet her pillow was.  Well, I think she heard about some poor person or poor family, and she cried about them, and then she took her gold piece and went to help them.”

“That’s ingenious, King,” said Mr. Maynard, “and it may be true.  I hope so, I’m sure.  But why should she stay away so long and not let us know?”

“Well, you see, the poor family may live at some distance, and not have any telephone, and they may be ill, or something, and she may be there yet, helping.  You know Mopsy is awful kind-hearted.  Remember the Simpsons’ fire?  She forgot everything else in caring for them.”

“That’s so, my son; at any rate, it’s the most comforting theory we’ve had yet, and I’ll go and tell your mother about it.  It will help her, I know.”

Mr. Maynard went away, and King remained downstairs.

“I’m not going to bed, Cousin Jack,” he said; “I’m old enough now to stay up with you men, in trouble like this.”

“All right, King.  You’re showing manly traits, my boy, and I’m proud of you.  Now, old chap, between you and me, I don’t subscribe to your poor-family theory.  It’s possible, of course, but it doesn’t seem probable to me.”

“Well, then, Cousin Jack, what can we do next?”

“We can’t do anything till morning; then I think we must see the police.”

“Oh, that seems so awful!”

“I know, but if it’s the means of finding Marjorie?”

“Then, of course, we’ll do it!  How early can we see them?”

“We can telephone as early as we like, I suppose.  But I’ve little confidence in the powers of the police down here.  They’re all right to patrol the beach, but they’re not like city policemen.”

At last the night wore away, and daybreak came.

They telephoned the police, and in a few minutes two of them arrived at the Maynard house for consultation.

“I know the child well,” said one of them, “I often see her about,—­a well-behaved little lady, but full o’ fun, too.  D’ye think she might have been kidnapped, now?”

“It might be,” said Mr. Bryant, “though she’s pretty big for that.  And, too, she took extra money with her.”