“Here is where I have been hiding,” said the girl. “I have taken pains to slip out and in when I fancied I would not be observed by any one who might be looking for me. I did not like to let you come here, Mr. Merriwell, but circumstances compelled me to do so.” “You know I stand ready to aid you, Miss Dugan, in any possible way.” They were on the steps, and she seemed hesitating over something. “Oh!” she finally exclaimed, “I wish I had a friend here!” “You have; I am your friend.” “I do not mean that. I wish I had a friend in this, house—a girl friend. But even then, I could not trust the secret to her. It is for your ears alone. Mr. Merriwell, you will understand better when you hear my story and see what I have to show you. To make everything clear to you, I must show you the doll.” Again the doll! “I am willing to look at it,” he said, with a laugh. “It is in my room,” she said, with sudden determination. “You must come there to see it.” She had a key in her hand, and now she unlocked the door. Frank followed her into the house. A dim light burned in the hall. But from above came the sound of children at play. They ascended the stairs. A door was standing slightly open, and the children’s voices came from that room. Hilda’s room was on the same floor. Frank stood outside the door until she had entered and lighted the gas. Then he came in, and she asked him to leave the door standing open. The room was small and rather poorly furnished. “If there had been any other way, I would not have asked you here,” she again declared. She gave him a chair and he sat down. From the distant room came the sound of the romping children, shouting to each other as they played. Hilda’s trunk was in the room. She unlocked it and took something out. When she turned to Frank she held in her hands a handsome wax doll, which had been carefully and expensively dressed. “Here,” she said, noting the wonder in his face, “is what has caused all the trouble.” All along he had fancied it might not really be a doll, but now he saw it was. She smiled as she heard him whistle softly to himself. “Isn’t she handsome?” asked the girl. “Very pretty,” he acknowledged, his wonder increasing. “Oh, I think she is perfectly lovely!” Hilda declared, caressing the doll. “Great Scott!” thought Frank. “Is the girl daffy, too?” “I’ve always admired dolls,” Hilda explained. “When I was a little girl I had no doll save an old rag one, but I loved it and petted it and talked to it, for it was my only companion during many a long, weary day.” She sat down facing Frank and continued: