"Elliott Cameron," she declared earnestly, "I do believe you have lost your mind! Haven't you any sense _at all_? And you a responsible housekeeper!" Perhaps it wasn't the first time a whirlwind had ever struck the Cameron farmhouse. Elliott hadn't a notion that she could work so fast. Her feet fairly flew. Bed-covers whisked into place; dusting-cloths raced over furniture; even milk-pans moved with unwonted celerity. But she left them clean, clean and shining. "There!" said the girl, "now we shall do well enough till dinner-time. I'm going into the village. Anybody want to come?" Priscilla jumped up. "I do, unless Trudy wants to more." Gertrude shook her head. "I'm going to put up tomatoes," she said, "the rest of the ripe ones." "Don't you want help?" "Not a bit. Tomatoes are no work, at all." Elliott dashed up-stairs. In a whirl of excitement she pinned on her hat and counted her money. No matter how much it cost, she meant to say all that she wanted to. Her cheeks were pink and her dimples hard at work playing hide-and-seek with their own shadows, when she cranked the little car. Everything would come right now; it couldn't fail to come right. Priscilla hopped into the seat beside her and they sped away. "I have cabled Father," Elliott announced at dinner, with the prettiest imaginable little air of importance and confidence, "I have cabled Father to find out all he can about Pete and to let us know _at once_. Perhaps we shall hear something to-morrow." But the next day passed, and the next, and the day after that, and still no cable from Father. It was very bewildering. At first Elliott jumped every time the telephone rang, and took down the receiver with quickened pulses. No matter what her brain said, her heart told her Father would send good news. She couldn't associate him with thoughts of ill news. Of course, her brain said there was no logic in that kind of argument, and that facts were facts; and in a case like Pete's, fathers couldn't make or mar them. Her heart kept right on expecting good tidings.