“Because, you see, Bones laughed at the idea of such a thing happening in these times--as a child bein’ stolen. And when I ran across that story in an old paper over at our house, I cut it out, just to show you that every little while something like this does happen.” “Have you got it along with you?” demanded Frank. “Sure I have, and I want you to read it,” with which Lanky produced a long slip of paper, about three columns of newspaper matter. Frank let his eye run along it hastily; but he had a faculty for gleaning all the points of a story almost at a glance. Some of the boys declared that Frank Allen would make a great reporter; but then there were many other positions in life in which he could make his mark, if half they said of him were true. “Well, it’s an interesting story, I see,” he remarked; “and I hope that the poor mother, Mrs. Elverson, has found her little Effie long ago. For I notice that this is cut from a paper that’s two months and more old, Lanky.” “That’s right, Frank,” the other answered, promptly. “This account tells of how the nurse took the little girl out walking and never turned up again,” Frank went on to say. “Just what it does, Frank, and I know what you’ve got on your mind.” “They traced her to the train, and she set out for another city not far away, where the detectives lost the trail; and although a week had gone by when this account was printed, not a single thing had they learned. The nurse had disappeared just as if the ground had opened and swallowed her up, this reporter says.” “His words, just like you say, Frank,” admitted Lanky, nodding his head encouragingly. “But, Lanky, from start to finish of this story there isn’t a single mention of gypsies,” Frank continued. “Huh, not a peep, sure’s you’re born, Frank.” “Then what makes you bring it to me to read, just as if you felt dead sure this little dark-faced child in the gypsy van might be the golden-haired Effie Elverson?” “Now, hold on, Frank,” interrupted the other, with a sudden change of front. “You know I didn’t say a word about that. Fact is, I explained in the start I only fetched this paper for you to see that what Bones said isn’t true. Right in these up-to-date times children _do_ disappear once in a while. Yes, and I wouldn’t put it past a gypsy tribe to steal a little girl, and even dye her hair! Laugh, if you want to, Frank.” “No, I’m not laughing, Lanky,” replied the other. “To tell the honest truth, somehow you’ve gone and got me worked up more than a little about this business. And since I promised to help you out, if I could, I’ll go along when you visit that gypsy camp. But we must lay our plans first.” “How’s that?” demanded Lanky, eagerly; for when it came to mapping out a campaign he was always willing to yield the palm to his wide-awake chum.