in Ft. Wayne. We are going directly to Ft. Wayne and are nearer there
now than Decatur. We will be very glad to take you along."

But at the mention of Ft. Wayne the girl shrank back. "No, no, not
there," she said in evident terror. "They--they would be watching for
me there."

Nyoda looked at the girl keenly. She must have seen what we did not.
"My dear," she said, in a big sister tone, "are you running away from
home?"

The girl started and looked haunted. "Yes, I am running away," she said
in a tone of desperation, "but I'm not running away from home. I'm
running back home. Home to my mother." She looked over her shoulder at
a house set far back from the road.

"Tell me about it," said Nyoda, with that smile of hers that never
fails to win a confidence. The girl looked into Nyoda's eyes and did
not look away again. It's the way everybody does.

"I'm Margery Anderson," she said. "You know now who I am and why I'm
running away."

Yes, we all knew. The papers all over had been full of the fight Mr.
and Mrs. Anderson, who were separated, had been making to get
possession of their daughter Margery. The law had given her to her
mother, but she had been kidnapped twice by her father and the last
that had been published about her was that she was in the keeping of an
uncle, who was hiding her from her mother. But the papers had said that
Margery was only thirteen years old. This girl looked older.