“Then she may have been goin’ somewhere by rail.”

“That’s so!  I never thought of that!” and Cousin Jack almost smiled.

“But where would she go?” said Mr. Maynard, hopelessly.  “She never travelled alone, and though impulsively mischievous, sometimes, she wouldn’t deliberately run away.”

The policemen went away to begin their quest, and the Maynards and their guests went to breakfast.

No one felt like eating, yet each urged the others to do so.

“Where’s Middy?” inquired baby Rosamond, at table.  “Middy gone ’way?”

“Yes, dear,” said Cousin Jack, for no one else could speak.  “Middy’s gone away for a little while.”

“I know,” said the child, contentedly, “Middy gone to Gramma’s to see Kitty!”

“Why, perhaps she did!” exclaimed Mr. Maynard.

But Mrs. Maynard had no such hope.  It was too unlike Marjorie to do such a thing.

“Well, let’s find out,” urged King.  “Let’s get Uncle Steve on the long-distance wire.”

“Don’t alarm Grandma,” said Mrs. Maynard.  “There’s no use stirring her up, until we know ourselves what has happened.”

“Leave it to me,” said Cousin Jack.  “I’ll find out.”

After some delay, he succeeded in getting Uncle Steve on the telephone.  Then he asked for Kitty.

“Hello, Susannah!” he cried, assuming a merry voice, in his kind desire not to alarm her.  “This is your Cousin Jack!”

“Oh, hello, Cousin Jack!” exclaimed Kitty, in delight.  “How nice of you to call me up!  How is everybody?”

“We’re well, thank you!  How are you all?”

“Oh, we’re all right.”

“Are you lonesome, away from your family?”

“No, not lonesome, though I’d like to see them.  Tell Midget there are two hundred incubator chicks now.”

“Well, that is a lot!  Now, good-by, Kitsie; I can’t run up too big a telephone bill for your father.  We all send love.  Be a good girl.  Good-by.”

Cousin Jack hung up the receiver and buried his face in his hands.  It had been a great strain on his nerves to appear gay and carefree to Kitty, and the implied assurance that Marjorie was not there nearly made him give way.

“She isn’t there,” he said, dully, as he repeated to the family what Kitty had said.  And then the telephone rang, and it was the police department.

Mr. Maynard took the receiver.

“We’ve traced her,” came the news, and the father’s face grew white with suspense.  “She bought a ticket to New York, and went there on the three-o’clock train yesterday afternoon.  Nothing further is known, as yet, but as soon as we can get in touch with the conductor of that train, we will.”

“New York!  Impossible!” cried Cousin Ethel, when she heard the message, and Mrs. Maynard fainted away.

Marjorie! on a train, going to New York alone!

“Come on, King,” said Cousin Jack, abruptly, and leaving the others to care for Mrs. Maynard, these two strode off again.  Straight to the railroad station they went to interview the agent themselves.