"Did the boys do it?" asked Cora. "Boys! Not a bit of it," replied Paul. "It was a regular hold-up. And the mail! I must get that, if they have left it on the road. Did you see the car? Is it all right?" "It appeared to be," said Cora. "It was the car that brought us to a standstill. It's in the middle of the road." Paul shook himself as if expecting to find some damage to limb or muscle. Then he turned toward the open path. "Tell us about it," demanded Cecilia. "Wasn't it a joke?" "Joke!" he reiterated. "Well, I should say not! Would you call it a joke to have two masked men jump in front of a running car, and flash something shiny? Then to have them climb in, cover my eyes and tell me I would be all right, and not to worry!" "Oh," sighed Hazel, "I felt something would happen to you, Paul, dear. You must give up this position." "Well, we will see about that," he replied. "Perhaps I won't have anything to say about it--if the mailpouch is gone." "Then they brought you out here?" asked Cecilia, determined to hear all the story. "Carried me like a baby," replied Paul, "and in sheer humane consideration they put me near the road, so that my call might be heard." "And the umbrella?" asked Cora. "Oh, they went to a barn for that. It was raining, and my polite friends did not want me to take cold." His tone was bitterly cutting; taking cold would evidently have been of small account to him. "And they sat you upon that log?" put in Maud. "Like any ordinary bump," he rejoined. "I never knew the misery of a bump on a log before." "And, you are not hurt?" Hazel pressed close to his side and looked up lovingly at the tall boy. "Not in the least--that is, physically. But I am seriously hurt mentally." Cora could not but recognize how handsome Paul was. The excitement seemed to fire his whole being, and throw some subtle human phosphorus--a light from his burning brain certainly brightened in his eyes and even in his cheeks. "Come along, girls," he said hurriedly. "Never mind the paraphernalia. Some lonely goat might like the rags. Let's get out on the road." His anxiety was of course for the mail. That leather bag meant more to him than the mere transference of Uncle Sam's freight--it meant his honor--his position. Over the rough fields the girls followed him. Hazel clung to his hand like a little sister indeed, while the others were content to keep as close as the uncertain footing would allow. Presently they reached the road, then the stage coach. The other girls, who had not run to Paul's rescue, were standing around breathless. Paul jumped into the car--thrust his hand into the box under the floor, where he always put the government pouch. He brought up the mailbag. CHAPTER VII A CHANCE MEETING