But all this was not greatly helping Azalea through the long days. They kept out of sight as much as possible—Betty Bowen and her odd “family.” By creeping along old roads and only stopping at the most out-of-the-way villages they seemed to escape the curiosity of the people. Indeed, many of those they came across seemed not to have energy enough for anything so lively as curiosity. Azalea always had taken an interest in the world, and the best part of the old life had been, to her, the quiet journeys along the roads, with the glimpses they gave of farmhouses and cabins and little towns. Now that she had come to know so many warmhearted new people, and that her own heart was aglow with the remembrance of it all, her interest in the homes she passed was keener than ever. So long as she was allowed to sit where she could look out, she did not greatly mind the days. In spite of the constant watch kept over her, and of the fact that she had not dreamed it would be so long before she was restored to her friends, she would not be downcast, and it was only when Bet gave the word that they were to halt and go into camp for a day that the girl found life unendurable. To be sure she grew very weary of going over and over the same thoughts; of wondering and wondering why no one came to her aid; of thinking what would happen to her when they had caught up with Sisson and his show. But when the dread and the fear were at their worst, she remembered certain words that Ma McBirney had spoken to her. “No matter what comes to you, Azalea,” she had told her once, “you keep your heart full of God’s light and of God’s love, and nothing can really harm you. You mind what I say, child. You do that and the angels of the Lord will compass you about.” If Betty Bowen had been her enemy she could have broken the child’s heart, or let her become exposed to some of those vague dangers which Azalea half imagined. But she was not her enemy. In her tired, discouraged way she seemed to like her. And she admired her. She used to command the child to sing and Azalea sang the sweet songs she had learned from Carin and from Ma McBirney. They had crept up into the mountains by roundabout ways, and were now feeling their way toward the Sisson All Star Combination, the precise location of which they did not know. When Azalea learned that, in spite of herself, she began to feel anxious. Little by little the courage in her heart oozed out, leaving her a sad and trembling child. If the old-time wanderings with the show had been hateful to her when she was with her mother, she knew they would be much, much more so now that she was alone and unfriended. It is possible for children to feel black despair, and something like that came to Azalea. It was evident to her that her friends had failed to get on her track, and in the long, idle, sodden hours of thought, she decided that her escape depended on herself.