could find him, I might prove my case, for he was with me at the time, he and a couple of his friends, and he saw where the stakes and stone piles were. But Paddy seems to have disappeared."

"That's too bad!" exclaimed Mollie, sympathetically.

"Yes. Well, I may be able to do something later. I am sure the landmarks were changed—if not by Jallow, by some one interested with him. The strip they claim, and which I say is mine, is the most valuable in the woods. I wish I could establish title to it, but unless I can find Paddy, or some of his friends, I'm afraid I'll have to lose.

"That is the complication I spoke of. But it need not hinder you girls from going to spend the winter in camp—or at least part of the winter."

"Will there be any danger?" asked Grace, rather timidly.

"No, not at all. You won't be mixed up in the legal proceedings. Nothing will be done, anyhow, until Spring. Then I'll see what can be accomplished. I only want a legal representative in the camp, in case Jallow tries any more sharp tricks. He has won the first skirmish, however, so I don't believe he'll make another move until I do. It only complicates matters, though.

"Now, if you girls think you'd like to go winter camping, why, say the word, find out if your folks will let you," and Mr. Ford looked at Mollie and Betty, "and I'll arrange with Ted Franklin and his wife."

"Of course we'll go, Daddy!" cried Grace, dancing about the room. "It will be just lovely; won't it, girls?"

"Scrumptious!" agreed Mollie.

"I'm sure I can go!" declared Betty. "Now let's go tell poor Amy!"

"Yes, I think the change will do her good," said Mr. Ford, reflectively. "Those Jallows—well, perhaps the least said about them the better."

Talking excitedly over the chance that had been offered to them, Grace, Mollie and Betty were soon on their way to the home of Amy Stonington. They found their chum in better spirits. The gloom of the day had passed, and she smiled, though wanly.

By common, though unspoken, consent, the little episode of the afternoon was not referred to.

"But, oh! we've got the finest news!" cried Betty, enthusiastically. "We're going winter camping! Think of that! Winter camping!"

"Tell me about it!" commanded Amy, her face brightening. And they told her.

The description had been nearly finished, and from Mr. and Mrs. Stonington had been exacted a tentative promise that Amy could go if the rest did, when the telephone bell rang.

"It's Will on the wire," said Amy to Grace. "He wants to speak to you."

"How did he know I was here?" asked Grace, as she took the receiver from her chum. "Oh, papa must have told him. Yes, what is it, Will? What! Mr. Blackford there? And he has some strange news of his missing sister? Yes, you and he can come right over!"

She turned and gazed with startled eyes at her chums.

"I—I wonder if he has found her?" faltered Mollie.

CHAPTER IV

MR. BLACKFORD'S CLUE

"Hope I didn't disturb any family party," apologized Mr. Blackford, when he and Will called at the Stonington home a little later that evening.

"Not at all," greeted Amy. "Come in. We are planning another season of activity."

"I might have guessed," answered the young man who had been so peculiarly involved in the five hundred dollar bill mystery. "You Outdoor Girls are always doing something novel. What is it this time?"

"A winter camp!" they cried in chorus.

"List to the pretty maidens!" sung Will, mockingly, as he assumed a theatrical attitude.

"Behave!" ordered his sister, whereat Will proceeded to contort himself in various ways to the great amusement of the girls.

"That's fine!" exclaimed Mr. Blackford—"fine that you can go camping, I mean—not Will's circus act. But I must apologize for coming in on you this way. I happened to have some business in town, and as I received a curious bit of news I thought you girls might be interested. It's about my missing sister," he added, simply. "I've told you how I have been searching for her.

"Perhaps I shouldn't bother you with my family troubles," he continued, hesitatingly, "but, somehow, ever since you helped me out so in the matter of that five hundred dollars, I have felt as though you did really take an interest in me, as I do in you. And, as I haven't any real folks of my own—so far," and he smiled, "naturally I come to you. Shall I go on?"

The girls nodded. After making the acquaintance of the young man in the manner related in our first volume, they had learned the queer fact of Mr. Blackford having a sister of whom he had lost track. At one time he hoped it might develop that she was the strange girl who fell out of the tree, but it was not so. This girl, Carrie Norton, had, after spending some time in Deepdale, departed to live with a distant relative.

Mr. Blackford had engaged a firm which made a specialty of locating missing persons to look for his sister, but so far there had been no result.

"And it doesn't look as though this were going to be very promising," the young man went on. "You know this searching firm has been delving among my wood-pile relations, as I call them, looking for clues," he went on. "They are getting all the old documents, bits of family history, descriptions, and so on, that they can lay hands on. It all helps, in a way, but we haven't had much luck so far. But you may be interested in something that just came up, and you may be able to help me.

"I've been traveling about, in connection with my business, and as I knew I would 'make' this town to-night, I had all my mail sent here. Imagine my surprise when I got to my hotel, a little while ago, to find the most promising clue yet."

"What is it?" asked Betty, eagerly.

"I thought you might be interested," said the young man, "and that is why I called at your house," and he nodded to Will.

"You had gone out," remarked Will to Grace, "so I asked dad where, as the maid said you'd all been in the library. Then I called up here," and he nodded to Amy.

"Glad you did," she returned. She seemed to have forgotten the trouble of the afternoon.

"Well," went on Mr. Blackford, "I feared it was a sort of imposition to come, and——"

"I told him it wasn't at all," interrupted Will.

"So on I came," proceeded the young business man.

"But what is the clue?" asked Grace, interestedly.

"This," was the reply, as he took some papers from his pocket. "But it's a clue that——"

"Isn't a clue," put in Will.

"Because——"

"It breaks off in the middle."

"Oh, Will, let him tell it; can't you?" demanded Grace, impatiently. "We don't know whom we're listening to."

"Well, to be brief," said Mr. Blackford, "the firm I have engaged, the other day, wrote me that they were on the track of my sister. They felt sure they were going to find her, and I was very hopeful.

"It seems that they had found some old documents in the attic of a house where some distant relatives live. They wrote me they were sending them on, and—here they are!"

He brought out a bundle of time-stained and yellow papers, and spread them on the table.

"Gracious!" cried Will. "Your sister must be quite elderly to have such ancient documents refer to her."

"No," said Mr. Blackford, "she is younger than I am, I believe. But I have no certain knowledge of that. Anyhow, this is part of a letter written about the girl whom I have every reason to