“Very likely.  I was foolish to suggest it, but so much depends on those papers that I don’t know just what to think.  But there, Grace,” as he kissed her, “you must rest yourself.  I will think of a way out, I’m sure.  Will, come with me.  I may need you to make some memoranda while I telephone,” and he and his son went to the library.

Morning did not see Prince in the stable, and all that day Will searched without result.  Many had seen the white horse flying wildly past, but that was all.  Some said the saddle was still on, others that it had come off.  Mr. Ford was much exercised over the loss of the papers.

He did what he could to hold back the business, but there was a prospect of loss and considerable trouble if the documents were not eventually found.  The opposing interests learned of the halt, and tried to take advantage of it.  They were, however, only partly successful.

In the meanwhile, after several days had passed, Dodo grew well enough to be brought home.  The chief injury was to her leg, and there was grave danger of it being permanently lame.  As soon as she was in better condition it was decided to have a noted specialist treat her.

Prince remained missing, nor was there any report of the saddle being located, though Mr. Ford offered a liberal reward for that, or the return of the horse.

Betty had telephoned for her three friends.  Her voice held in it the hint of pleasure and mystery both, but to all inquiries of what was wanted she returned only the answer: 

“Come and see.  I want you to meet some one.”

It was two weeks after the accident, and, in a great measure, the bitter memories of it had passed.  Dodo was doing as well as could be expected, and, save for a slight limp, Grace had fully recovered.

The three chums—­ “graces” Will called them—­ arrived at Betty’s house at the same time.  With sparkling eyes she led them into the parlor.

“But what is it?” whispered Amy.

“If it’s a strange young man, I’m not going to go and meet him,” said Mollie, with quick decision.

“It’s a man, but not young, and I think you’ll be glad to meet him,” answered Betty.

Grace instinctively looked at her dress.

“Oh, you’re all right!” cried Betty.  Then she threw open the parlor door.  “Here they are, Uncle Amos!” she cried, gaily, and the girls beheld a rather grizzled, elderly man, with tanned face and hands, and wrinkled cheeks, like an apple that has kept all winter, with the merriest blue eyes imaginable, and when he spoke there sounded the heartiest voice that could well fit into the rather small parlor.

“Avast there!” he cried, as he saw the girls.  “So these are your consorts; eh, Bet?  They do you proud!  May I be keel-hauled if I’ve seen a prettier set of sails on a craft in a long while.  It’s good rigging—­ good rigging,” and he glanced particularly at the dresses.