“Certainly.” “Of course; with pleasure,” responded the parson and the lawyer in a breath. And the three turned toward the house—Miss Frond leading the weeping black infant, who seemed to have been converted into an inexhaustible fountain of tears. “We will take the child with us. The drive may distract her grief,” said Roma as they walked on. On the lawn before the house they found Puck, who had just returned from the post office with a packet of letters and papers in his hand. “Take them into the parlor, and leave them on the table. I have no time to look at them now,” said Miss Fronde. “Yes, ma’am,” replied the negro. Then, noticing Ducky Darling: “W’y, wot de name ob sense is de matter ’long o’ yo’, Dorky?” he inquired of the wailing little one. “W’ite man!—Owly!—ta’yidge!” wailed the child. “Wot? Wot she mean, young mist’ess?” politely questioned the father. “Owlet has been carried off in a carriage by some man.” “Oh, Lor’!” “There is no time to talk about it now.” “An’ she jus’ doted on dat w’ite chile, Dorky did. Who could ’a’ done it?” persisted the amazed negro. “We are going to see. Hurry, now, and put the bays to the barouche, and bring it around to the door.” “Is me or Uncle Pompous to dribe?” “You. Hasten!” “Nebber heard ob sich a fing in all my born days! Man to steal a w’ite chile? Wot ebber any man want ’long ob a chile wot don’t ’long to him passes me. Trouble ’nuff wid dem we has to ’vide fo’,” muttered Puck to himself as he ran away to do his errands. Miss Fronde passed into the house, went upstairs, put on her bonnet, mantle and gloves, covered Ducky Darling’s little curly black head with one of Owlet’s hats, and came down, leading the child, into the hall, where she found the two gentlemen ready, and waiting for her. The carriage was at the door. They entered it, Mr. Merritt lifting the little darky to a seat beside her mistress, and were soon on their way. An hour’s rapid drive brought them to the village. They drew up before the Goeberlin House, where Mr. Merritt got out to make inquiries concerning the suspected man, who, if he stopped any time in the little town, must have put up there, as it was the only hotel of any sort in the place. He entered the office to interview the clerk, while Roma remained with her companions in the carriage, anxiously awaiting the result of the lawyer’s investigation. The little darky had cried herself into a state of collapse and quietness, with her head on Roma’s lap. In about fifteen minutes Merritt came out with a very grave face. “Well?” anxiously exclaimed the young lady. “Well?” The lawyer, standing at the carriage door, made this report: