Since the front seat was loaded with bundles Connors had placed the old lady in the rear and driven on. Some twenty miles had been traversed and the outskirts of Milltown reached when Connors discovered he was out of cigarettes. Stopping the car at a corner drugstore he went in to buy his favorite brand. Once inside he recalled the old lady's presence and, stepping out again, asked if she would like an ice cream soda. Her pleasure and gratitude seemed all out of proportion to the offer until she said she had not tasted ice cream for over five years. When they were ready to drive on again Connors asked the old lady where she wanted to be taken. At first she was certain she could walk the rest of the way but finally agreed with Connors' insistence that he could easily drive her to the daughter's home which she had never visited. Number 17 Portland street was the address she gave, an address that took Connors far out of his normal route into an unfamiliar section of the city. After perhaps fifteen minutes of driving he reached Portland street and stopped the car at a corner to inquire directions for number 17. The first person he asked pointed to a house four doors from the corner. It was at this moment that Connors turned around and discovered the old lady was missing. Her disappearance was puzzling. It seemed unbelievable that she could have left the car without being noticed by Connors, or that she would have left without so much as "Thank you," but the fact remained that she was gone. Connors jumped out of his seat, looked up and down the street, glanced behind the car, peered into the corner there was no sight of the old lady. Connors was both perplexed and irritated. After a moment's indecision he stepped across to number 17 and rang the bell. His summons was answered by a pleasant looking, young woman. "Pardon me," said Connors, "I am afraid I don't know your name, but are you expecting your mother today?" "My mother," replied the woman with a gasp, "why--why, what do you mean?" "A nice old lady in Huntsville this morning asked me to drive her to 17 Portland street to visit her daughter whom she hadn't seen for five years. I brought her into town but when I stopped at the corner there to inquire the way I found she was no longer in the car. So I came on here to ask if she had already arrived." "What did she look like?" "A sweet old lady, short and slender, snow white hair, pale thin cheeks, wearing an old fashioned taffeta dress with yellowed lace and a jet necklace. Is that your mother?" "Yes, that is my mother but she died in Huntsville five years ago today." The End * * * * * Good-bye, Friends * * * * * ADVERTISEMENTS