“Well, it isn’t as bad as it might be,” said Dr. Morse after he had examined Hadee. “Of course it would have been better to have had the bone set sooner, but there’s no great harm done. But I must get her to some other place than this to work over her. I haven’t room here.” “Take her to our camp,” proposed Natalie. “No, she wouldn’t ride well in a boat. I’ll just send Old Hanson back for a farm wagon, and have him put a mattress in it. She can ride on that as well as in an ambulance. I guess the Richardson’s will take her in. They have plenty of room. I was just there on a call when Hanson found me. Mr. Richardson has a little bilious attack. This girl will be very comfortable there. His wife is a fine cook, and they have hired help.” Dr. Morse explained to Old Hanson what was wanted, and the hermit started off after the wagon. Hadee was gotten downstairs, and made as comfortable as possible. The Camp Fire Girls were anxious to hear her story but Dr. Morse would not let her talk. “It will do later,” he said. “She has a slight fever, and I don’t want any more inflammation in that leg than I can help.” There was the sound of wheels down the road. A farm wagon hove in sight, Old Hanson sitting on the seat beside the driver. As Hadee was carried out the old hermit, who had been hovering about caught a glimpse of her face. He started, took a few steps forward, clutched at his heart and cried: “Girl—girl! Who was your mother?” “Hush! We mustn’t have any excitement,” warned the doctor, thinking the old man’s mind, never considered strong, was leading him astray. “Her mother! Her mother!” cried Hanson. “I can see her mother’s face! She is my daughter’s child—I know it. She has been restored to me! Oh, child, where is your mother?” “Now—now!” protested Dr. Morse. “You can’t——” But Hanson had pushed his way forward, and was now beside the wagon, in which Hadee lay on the mattress. There was a flush on her pale face. “What does he mean?” she asked slowly. “I don’t know,” answered Dr. Morse testily. “I’ll explain!” said Hanson eagerly. “I’m not crazy—let me talk. Everybody doesn’t know my story—some around here do—you do, Dr. Morse. I tell you that girl is my daughter’s child. Tell me,” he appealed to Hadee, “do you know who your mother and father were?” “They are both dead,” she said softly, “but I have been told that my mother was not a Gypsy.” “Of course she was not!” cried Hanson. “She was my daughter, and she ran away and married a Gypsy—a handsome chap he was, too. It broke my heart—it made me lose all hope in life. But now my granddaughter is restored to me. And so you were the ghost of the mill?” “I hid there after I ran away,” said Hadee. “I wouldn’t do as they wanted me to——” “You had better not talk, dear,” said Mrs. Bonnell gently placing her hand on the girl’s hot forehead. “Oh, well, maybe she’ll feel better to have it over with,” said Dr. Morse resignedly. “Are you sure about this, Hanson?”