The All Stars stared and forgot their manners, so that “Haystack” had to make his way on down the mountain with no one to say goodbye. “So he was spying out the girl the whole time!” said they to each other. But what they thought or knew was of no consequence to Haystack now. He swung on down the road, peering here and there, and hallooing at the top of his lungs every few minutes. “Zalie! Zalie McBirney!” he shouted. “Where you hiding? This is ole Haystack come to take you home. Don’t be afeard, Zalie. Answer up, that’s a good girl.” But no answer came; and a couple of hours later when he had reached the contented little town of Barrington, he went to the telegraph office and with the help of the obliging young operator sent this message to Mr. Carson. “Found the third wagon, but not the girl. Search party going out to-day.” CHAPTER XI THE SUMMERS FAMILY The Rev. Mr. Absalom Summers, pastor of the Methodist church at Barrington, N. C., got up out of his bed singing. He went to his bath singing, and singing he hastened to the kitchen to build the fire for breakfast. “A mighty fortress is our Lord,” he shouted to the clear, bright morning. “A bulwark nev-ev-er fail-ll-ing.” He did not even stop singing when he knocked his head against the shed door. Indeed, he would have felt a little lonesome if he had not hit it against that jamb, for that battering of his blond head was a part, so to speak of the morning ritual. He loomed six feet three in his knitted hose, and as the door was only six feet in height, difficulties of one sort or another were unavoidable. As yet, the door casing had resisted all attacks. All the Rev. Absalom said was “Ouch! Giminy cricket!” And then with increased vigor he continued: “Our helper he, amid the flood Of mortal ills pre-vail-ll-ing. For still our ancient foe, Doth seek to work us woe—” The song died—not on the lips of the reverend gentleman, for to say that he sang with his lips would be to do him an injustice. The song died in his resounding throat and his massive lungs, it faded away in his deep diaphragm, and he stood frankly gasping. The morning being so fair, it had called to him, and even with his arms laden with good “light wood,” he could not resist the temptation to step out on the little porch to look at the lacy clouds winding over an azure sky, and the delicate scarfs of mist fluttering from the shoulders of the mountains. And then he saw just what papa bear and mamma bear and baby bear saw when they came back to their home. He saw Golden-locks, or rather Hazel-locks, asleep in the little couch. She was smiling as if she were dreaming of happy things, but for all of that she looked very worn and uncared for. The shoes that stood beside the cot had almost no soles to them, and the soiled white frock that lay tumbled at the foot of the bed, was a mere rag. Her long hair was uncared for, and the deep rings beneath her eyes were not all from fatigue.