In that section of the town where the girls lived, the Americanized foreigners had little in common with such families as those of the girls of True Tred Troop.  In fact, few happenings in the mill community ever reached the ears of the so-called “swells,” that inappropriate term being applied to those whose fathers held some executive position in the great silk industries of Flosston.

Thus it was easy to understand why the scouts had heard nothing next day of the mysterious disappearance of Dagmar and Tessie.

A contrary situation existed in Millville, however.  Here the families of both girls were causing a search to be made in that peculiar fashion of confusion and excitement, usually ending in making the condition more complicated, and giving rise to absolutely no clues worthy of attention.

Mrs. Brodix, Dagmar’s mother, good, kind mother that she was, spent her time wringing her hands and rolling her big black eyes, otherwise in extolling the hitherto undiscovered virtues of the lost daughter.

In her distress she forsook the English tongue, and lapsed into a conglomeration of Polish and Yiddish made intelligible only through the plentiful interpretation of dramatic gesticulation.

“Oh, my beautiful Dagmar!” she wailed.  “It is that vile street runner Theresa, who has carried her away!” was the burden of her lamentations.

“The smartest girl in all Millville was my Tessie,” insisted Mrs. Wartliz.  “It was that baby-faced kitten, Dagmar Brodix, who coaxed her off.  She would earn as much money as me” (good enough English for Mrs. Wartliz), “and she had money in the bank, too.”

It was probably this last fact that really led the girls to seek what they considered was a broader field for their talent.  If Tessie’s money in the bank had been a joint account with her mother’s name, she would not have been able to draw out the funds for her escapade, but what did Mrs. Wartliz know about such supervision for a daughter, who was absorbing America at one end—­ the attractions—­and ignoring America at the other—­honorable conduct?

What actually happened was this.  When Dagmar ran after Tessie, who was threatening to leave her to her own resources, that dark night when both had planned to shake the dust of Millville from their well worn shoes, the older girl finally agreed to take Dagmar along if “she would quit her babying, and act decent.”

“Now the train is gone,” scolded Tessie, “and we have to take that horrid old jitney out to the junction.  Like as not we will meet some one who will squeal on us.”

“Tessie,” pleaded Dagmar, afraid to speak, and fearful of the consequences if she did not make her appeal.  “Why can’t we go to Franklin?  There is a fine mill there and it is nearer home—­”

“Say kid” exclaimed the rougher girl, “if you want to go home you have a swell chance right now, but if you want to come with me quit simping and come,” and she picked up her own bag in bad temper, gave her brilliant scarf a twist and started off for the jitney, leaving Dagmar to take the unattractive choice she had just mentioned.