The Camp Fire Girls on the Farm | Page 3

nickel--if I wanted it back. And--well, that sort of helps to get us started, doesn't it? You know why your father's in trouble? It's because they say he's been making bad money at that little house where you lived in Hedgeville."
"He didn't!" said Zara. "I know he didn't!"
"Well, the district attorney--he's the one who has to be against your father, you know--says that everyone in Hedgeville seems to think he did. And he says that where there's so much smoke there must be some fire; that if so many people think your father was crooked, they must be right. I told him that was unfair, but he just laughed at me."
"You may have to be a witness, Zara," said Eleanor.
"A witness?" said Zara, puzzled.
"Yes. You may have to go to court, and tell them what you know. They'll ask you questions, though, and you'll just have to answer them, and tell the truth just as you know it."
"Yes, that's why I'm here," said Jamieson, nodding his head. "You see, I may need you very badly and I want to make sure that they can't take you back to Hedgeville. You never saw anyone who told you that as long as your father couldn't look after you any more, you would have to stay with this Weeks, did you? A judge, I mean?"
"No. But when Farmer Weeks caught me that time, and carried me away in his buggy, he said he was going to take me to Zebulon--that's the county seat, you know--and have everything fixed up. But Bessie got me away from him before that could happen, so it was all right."
"And when he came after you at Pine Bridge--after you'd crossed the line into this state--the policeman there wouldn't let him touch you, would he?"
"No. Farmer Weeks showed him a paper, with a big red seal on it, but the policeman said it was no good in this state."
"That sounds all right. I guess they can't touch you. I had to make sure of that, you see. But, young lady, you want to be mighty careful. If they can get you over the state line, no matter how, they've got you. And I shouldn't be surprised if they tried just to kidnap you."
Eleanor Mercer looked frightened.
"Do you think there is any real danger, Charlie?" she asked.
"I certainly do. And it's because I don't know just what it is they're after. There's something funny here, something we don't know about at all yet. Maybe her father could tell us, but he isn't ready to do it. And I don't blame him much. I guess, from all I've heard, that he's had about as bad a time here with spies and enemies as he could have had anywhere in Europe."
"You hear that, Zara? You must be very careful. Don't go out alone, and if anyone tries to speak to you, no matter what they tell you, you pay no attention to them. If they keep on bothering you, speak to a policeman, if there's one around, and say that you want him to stop them from bothering you."
"Good idea," said Charlie Jamieson. "And if you do have to speak to a policeman, you mention my name. They all know me, and I guess most of them like me well enough to do any little favor for a friend of mine."
Then Jamieson turned to Bessie.
"We've got to think about your case, too," he said. "Miss Mercer tells me that you don't know what's become of your father and mother. Just what do you know about them?"
"Not very much," said Bessie, bravely, although the disappearance of her parents always weighed heavily on her mind. "When I was a little bit of a girl they left me with the Hoovers, at Hedgeville, and I lived with them after that. Maw Hoover said they promised to come back for me, and to pay her board for looking after me until they came, and that they did pay the board for a while. But then they stopped writing altogether, and no one has heard from them for years."
"H'm! Where did the last letter they wrote come from?"
"San Francisco. I've heard Maw Hoover say that, often. But that was years and years ago."
"Well, that's better than nothing, anyhow. You see, the Hoovers wouldn't have known how to start looking for them, even if they'd been particularly anxious to do it."
"And I don't believe they were," said Eleanor Mercer, indignantly. "They treated her shamefully, Charlie--made her work like a hired girl, and never paid her for it, at all. Instead, they acted, or the woman did, anyhow, just as if they were giving her charity in letting her stay there. Wasn't that an outrage?"
"Lots of people act as if they were being charitable when they get a good