“I’m afraid he did,” answered the young fellow, sobering instantly. “You see, I just returned from overseas about a week ago and a couple of days later my dad read in the paper about the death of this queer old man’s two sons. The pater had always been interested in the lonely old boy, so he sent me over to see if I could do anything for him. I found the place like this and! the bird had flown. Went dopy I suppose about the bad news and tore things up a bit.” Though the boy’s words were slangy, there was real sympathy in his tone and the girls liked him the better for it. “And you haven’t heard anything from him since?” asked Betty softly. “Not a word or a sign,” answered the boy, with a shake of his head. “Just clean cleared out, that’s all. Pretty hard luck, I call it. Just at the end of things too! when he had a right to expect the fellows home. Pretty tough luck. I wish I could find the poor old duffer and do something for him.” The girls heartily echoed the wish. Before leaving the place for good, they looked about the rooms once more for some sign or message that might give them a clue to the whereabouts of the professor. They found nothing, however, and finally were forced to give up the search. As the young people stepped outside once more and closed the door after them upon the desolate house a great wave of pity swept over Betty. Somehow it did not seem right to go off like this as though they were abandoning the old man to his fate. Yet what could they do more than they had done? “Girls,” she said, a little quiver in her voice, “I would give almost everything I own to find the poor old professor and help him back to happiness. If I only could,” she added after a pause. “Well,” said Wesley Travers, as he looked admiringly at Betty’s flushed, sympathetic little face, “I imagine if any one could find him and bring him happiness, you would be that one.” The young soldier accompanied them back to the road. After thanking him for the information he had given them, the girls climbed into their cars and headed toward home, leaving Wesley Travers still standing in the road and looking after them thoughtfully. “A mighty nice bunch of girls,” thought the latter. “Especially the little brown-haired one. They seemed rather interested in that dotty old professor too. Lucky fellow to have four girls like that interested in him!” After this remark he started off toward home. Luckily for the girls, the next few days were so crowded with preparations for the trip to Wild Rose Lodge that they had not much time to dwell on the poor old professor and his misfortunes. Only at night would they sometimes dream queer dreams in which wild-eyed men went around smashing everything in sight and a little cottage stood lonely and desolate and ghostlike amid a silent forest of trees.