Ruth could not but smile, though the serious look did not leave her face.
She was very like her father. The least little matter out of the ordinary
affected him, and usually on the sad, instead of on the "glad" side. He,
like Ruth, was of a romantic type, inclined to anticipate too much. Alice
was more matter of fact, not to say frivolous, though she could be very
sensible at times.

"Well, I suppose we must go to bed," sighed Ruth at length. "But I'm
afraid I sha'n't sleep."

"On account of thinking of those girls?"

"Yes, just imagine them out all alone in some dismal swamp, perhaps,
without a light, hungry--afraid of every sound--"

"Please stop! You're getting on my nerves."

"I didn't mean to, my dear," was the gentle answer.

"I know you didn't, and it was mean of me to talk that way," and a plump,
bare arm stole around the other's neck, while a hand was run through the
golden hair. "But, don't let's think so much about them. Perhaps they are
not those two girls we met, after all."

"Oh, I don't believe they can be," Ruth agreed. "That would be too much
of a coincidence. But they are two girls--"

"Not necessarily. Maybe it's only an unfounded rumor. Russ says newspaper
men often 'plant' a story like this off in some obscure place, and then
use it as the basis for one of those lurid stories in the Sunday