On and on she rode, peering through the gloaming until her eyes ached, ever conscious of the “throb, throb,” of the car directly behind her. What a mistake, she thought dismally, to have ventured on these lonely roads alone. And, O dear! how her mother would worry when she failed to arrive home on time. Suddenly she stopped and stared fixedly through the gray light, and then her heart leaped, for down the road a little distance, trudging slowly and uncertainly beside the mountain-ditch, were four little figures. Oh, they must be those boys, but she had sent for only three. With a glad thrill of hope urging her forward, the machine responded to her touch, and in a moment she had reached the boys, one of whom, at the sound of the oncoming car, had swung around, and was staring at her with large, liquid brown eyes. The girl suddenly decided that he must be the Italian lad, who the ticket-agent had said wore an embroidered vest, and carried a violin under his arm. Yes, there was the violin! Nathalie brought her car to a sudden stop, and called out, “Hello there, boys; hello!” At the sound of the girl’s call all four swung about and faced her, while a boyish, gruff voice answered: “Hello yourself. What do you want?” Nathalie laughed happily, for a sudden intuition told her that her search was over. And then she said: “Why, I am looking for some little boys, who were to have come from New York on the White Mountain express. Are you the ones?” A chorus of trebles piped excitedly, “Yes, mum; we comed off the train,” while the tallest lad, to whom a smaller child of six or seven was nervously clinging, stepped forward. As he lifted his ragged cap he cried politely, “Be you Miss Nathalie Page?” The girl, as she stared down at the questioner, saw a close-cropped head of reddish hair, and a freckled face of an unhealthy pallor, from which two sharp blue eyes were anxiously peering. “Yes, I’m Miss Nathalie Page,” responded the girl, with a note of relief in her voice, not only glad that she had found the boys, but at the sudden thought that her tormentor would now let her alone, for, with four boys to keep her company, he would not dare to molest her. “I’m awfully sorry not to have met you at the station,” she went on regretfully, “but something happened to my machine and I was detained on the road. But I did not know that there would be four of you,” she added a little doubtfully. But before she could finish her sentence, the lad who had constituted himself the spokesman for the group, silently handed her a letter.