Nelson The Newsboy

At last she found a newsboy who directed her where to go. She thought he looked at her rather queerly when he found out where the place was, but he said nothing, and she asked no further questions. Soon she was hurrying down the country road leading toward Sarah Higgins' place.

As she moved along she had to confess to herself that the surroundings were hardly what she had anticipated. The road was little more than a bypath, and was by no means well kept.

"Perhaps this is a short cut to something better," she thought. "That newsboy didn't want me to walk any further than necessary. But I must say I see no mansions anywhere around—only the plainest kind of farmhouses."

At last she reached the spot the boy had mentioned. In a clump of pines was a dilapidated cottage, half stone and half wood, with a dooryard in front choked with weeds.

"There surely is some mistake," said the girl to herself. "This can't be the house. I'll go in and find out where Mrs. Broaderick's home really is."

She passed through the open gateway and made her way up the rough garden path. The door was closed to the cottage, and so were all the windows. She knocked loudly.

There was a wait of a minute, and she knocked again. At length the door was opened cautiously and Sarah Higgins, dressed in a dirty wrapper and with her hair flying in all directions, showed herself.

"Excuse me, but can you tell me where Mrs. Broaderick's house is?" asked Gertrude politely.

"What's that?" asked Sarah Higgins, in a high-pitched voice, and placed one hand behind her ear.

"I wish to find Mrs. Broaderick's house. Will you tell me where it is?" went on the girl, in a louder key.

"Don't know Mrs. Broaderick," replied Sarah Higgins. Then she gave Gertrude a searching look. "Come in and rest, won't you? You look tired out."

"Thank you; I'll rest a moment," answered Gertrude. She was somewhat dismayed by the turn affairs had taken. "And do you know most of the folks around here?" she continued.

The question had to be repeated twice before the half-deaf woman understood.

"Of course I do, miss," she answered. "Haven't I lived here going on forty-five years—since I was a little girl?"

"Then you must know Mrs. Broaderick—or perhaps she is a newcomer."

"Never heard the name before. But, tell me, is your name Gertrude?"

"It is!" cried the girl in wonder. "How did you guess it?"

"I've been expecting you, my dear. It's all right, make yourself at home," went on Sarah Higgins soothingly. "Let me take your hat, that's a good young lady." And she started to take Gertrude's hat from her head.

She had been told that the girl would arrive that noon and would most likely inquire for an imaginary person named Broaderick. Homer Bulson had certainly laid his plans well.

"Don't! leave my hat be!" cried Gertrude, and shrank back in alarm. "You seem to know my first name, madam, but I do not know you."

"Never mind; make yourself at home," said Sarah Higgins soothingly.

"But I do not wish to remain here. I want to find the lady I have come to Lakewood to see," insisted poor Gertrude. Then she started for the door—to find herself confronted by Homer Bulson.

"You!" she gasped, and sank back on a chair.

"You didn't expect to see me, did you?" he asked sarcastically, as he came in and shut the door.

"I—I did not," she faltered. "What brought you here?"

"Well, if you must know, I was curious to learn where you were going, Gertrude," he said in a low voice, that Sarah Higgins might not understand. "I followed you from the ferry in New York."

"You were on the express train?"

"I was."

"You had no right to follow me."

"But what are you doing here?" he went on, bound to "mix up" matters both for her and for Sarah Higgins, so that the latter might think Gertrude quite out of her mind.

"I came to Lakewood on business." Gertrude arose. "Let me pass."

"Don't be in such a hurry, Gertrude; I wish to talk to you."

"But I do not wish to speak to you, Mr. Bulson."

"Gertrude, you are cruel—why not listen?"

"Because I do not wish to hear what you want to say."

"But you don't know what I have to say," he persisted.

"I know all I wish to know. Now let me pass."

She tried to make her way to the door, but he quickly caught her by the arm.

"You shall not go," he said.

At this she let out a scream, but he only smiled, while Sarah Higgins looked on curiously.

"Screaming will do you no good, Gertrude. This house is quarter of a mile from any other, and the road is but little used."

"You are cruel—let me go!" said she, and burst into tears.

"You shall never leave until you listen to me," he said. And then he tried his best to reason with her for fully an hour, but she would not hearken. At last she grew as pale as a sheet.

"This whole thing is a trick—the letter and all!" she gasped, and fell in a swoon. He caught her and carried her to an upper chamber of the cottage. Here he placed her on a couch, and then went below again, locking the door after him.

"It's a way she has at times," he explained to Sarah Higgins. "She is not always so bad. She will be quite herself in a few days, and then she will remember nothing of this."

"Poor dear!" was the answer. "It's dreadful to be so out of one's mind."

"You must take care that she does not escape."

"I will, sir. But about that money?" And the woman's eyes gleamed greedily.

"There is ten dollars on account." And Homer Bulson handed over the amount.

"Thank you, sir. She shall have the best of care—and she won't get away, never fear."