"David!" was all Grace could find words for, when, entering the living-room, her girlhood friend sprang forward to meet her with outstretched hand of sympathy. "I'm more sorry than I can say, Grace," David burst forth, as, motioning him to a chair, Grace sat down opposite him. "I was delayed in Chicago and didn't reach New York until this morning. My mail wasn't forwarded to me, so I didn't get your letter until then. I sent your telegram to Mr. Mackenzie, then caught the first train for Oakdale. Did you get my wire?" "Yes. I've been anxiously watching for you. It's dreadful--David." Grace's voice trailed away into a stifled sob. Brave as she had tried to be, David's belated presence was almost too much for her composure. "I should say it was." David looked utter concern over the sad errand that had brought him to Grace. "Tell me everything, Grace. I must know the facts if I am to be of real service to you." Fighting for self-control, Grace narrated briefly the little she knew concerning Tom's strange disappearance. "Mrs. Gray had written Mr. Mackenzie about Tom before I wrote you. I explained to you in my letter that he was ill. That was Tom's reason for going away up there to that dreadful camp. Mr. Mackenzie writes that Tom never arrived. He was very much upset over it as he had been depending upon Tom to look after things until he was well again. Poor Aunt Rose is nearly distracted. She has put the matter in the hands of a private investigator. He hasn't had time to reach the camp yet so, of course, we haven't heard from him. Fairy Godmother has forbidden him to telegraph her at Oakdale. She is afraid some one may find out about Tom and gossip." The sickness of hope deferred lay in Grace's eyes as she finished speaking. "I'm going up to that camp, Grace," announced David with strong determination. "I'll catch the next train for New York and arrange my business to-morrow morning. By afternoon I'll be on the way to Tom. If he is to be found, I shall find him. Who is the man Mrs. Gray has engaged to clear up the mystery?" Grace named a man whose professional standing in his particular field ranked high. "A very clever man," commented David. "He ought to do something toward straightening out this snarl." "We can only hope that he will," was Grace's sad response. "Excuse me, David, until I call Mother. She is so anxious to see you. Then we had better go to Aunt Rose. You will find her greatly changed. This trouble has aged her. She looks 'years old,' rather than 'years young.' That wonderful spirit of youth has deserted her. It could hardly be otherwise."