“What a-way should they be dashed for, father? Ain’t it right that Hi and his ma should be together? And don’t you believe that what’s right will come to pass?” Pa shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know as that has been according to my experience,” he said. “Of course it has, Thomas. You know it has! And everything’s going to come right for Hi—and for Azalea, Thomas—and for you and Jim and me! You’ll see! You mustn’t break down my faith, Thomas.” And Thomas McBirney, looking at her face with its look as of a light burning through it, knew that he must not, indeed. The second Saturday after Azalea’s disappearance, a letter came to the Lee post office for Pa McBirney from Haystack Thompson. It read like this. “Deer Nabor: “How many wagons did the Sisson All Star Combinashun have when you saw them last? Adres me with the show. “C. W. Thompson.” Pa McBirney made use of the telegraph for the first time in his life, being moved to the act by the insistence of Mr. Carson. He responded briefly: “There were three wagons. Why? Wire my expense.” And the answer came: “Because now he’s got two only. I am fiddling for the show.” “Good old Haystack!” cried Mr. Carson when he read the telegraphic message. And he himself ventured on a dispatch to Mr. Thompson. “Keep on fiddling,” he wired. “The third wagon will come back.” Then Mr. Carson rode home hard with the news to his Carin; and Mr. McBirney put his tired horses up the long mountain road to carry the word to his Mary. And Azalea’s friends took heart, and hoped on and prayed on; and the sheriff made his more or less languid inquiries, and the newspapers printed articles, and hundreds of people who did not know Azalea at all were very much interested.