“Mr. Cameron was on furlough from his paper because of ill-health. At the beginning of his captivity he was in a very bad way, indeed, it is said. But the months in the hot, dry atmosphere of the desert have made a new man of him, and he personally cannot hold much rancour against the Mohammedan tribe that held him a prisoner.” There was more of the wonderful story, but the sleepy little girl had given it no attention whatsoever. Prince had eaten and lain down in his familiar corner. The little girl had gone softly into her own room and made up her bed as she had seen her mother and Mrs. Price make it. Then she turned on the water in the bathtub and took a bath. It was delightful to have a real tub instead of the galvanised bucket they used at Uncle Joe’s. She put on her nightgown at last, knelt and said her prayer, including that petition she had never left out of it since that first night she had knelt at Aunty Rose’s knee: “God bless my papa and mamma and bring them safe home.” The faith that moves mountains was in that prayer. CHAPTER XXX—THE HOUSE OF BEWILDERMENT Carolyn May slept the sleep of the wearied, if not of the carefree. The noises of the street did not disturb her, not even the passing of the fire-department trucks some time after midnight. Nor did nearer sounds arouse her. She had no knowledge of the fact that a procession of A.D.T. boys and messengers from the railroad company came to ring the bell of the Prices’ apartment. Later the janitor’s family was aroused, but the little lame boy thought it would be better for him to say nothing about having seen Carolyn May and of having given her the keys. So when, in the early morning, a taxicab stopped at the street door and a bushy-haired, troubled-looking man got out and helped a woman clad in brown to the sidewalk, the janitor had no knowledge of the fact that Carolyn May and Prince were upstairs in the apartment that had been so long empty. “And the Prices are away,” said Uncle Joe in a troubled voice. “What do you think of that, Mandy?” “Oh, Joe! where could the dear child have gone?” “I haven’t seen her,” declared the janitor. “But I can let you into the flat. There’s been lots of telegrams to Mr. Price in the night—and they weren’t all yours. You’re Carolyn May’s uncle, ain’t you?” he asked Mr. Stagg. Uncle Joe acknowledged the relationship. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said to Amanda. “Now that I’m here—” “Oh, dear, Joe!” almost wept Amanda, “could anything have happened to her in this big city?” “’Most anything, I s’pose,” growled Joseph Stagg, following close on the janitor’s heels. The janitor’s passkey grating in the lock of the private hall door started something that none of them expected. A startling bark echoed in the rooms which were supposed to be empty. “Whatever is that?” gasped the janitor. “It’s Prince! It’s her dog!” shouted Uncle Joe. “The child is here!” cried Amanda Parlow, and she was the first to enter the apartment.