"Ten to one Anne's father is acting in it," said David, "and that is the reason he happens to be in Oakdale to-day."

"That's a very brilliant idea if it happens to be true," said Jessica.

"But don't you think we had better see Miss Mary Pierson before we do anything?"

"No," exclaimed Grace decisively. She was in the habit of thinking quickly and her friends usually let her have her way; but it was generally the best way. "It would be a pity to alarm her unnecessarily if we can avoid it. Anne isn't expected home until late, anyway. She is invited as are all of you to eat supper at my house. Suppose we go right to town, while David makes some inquiries at the Opera House. Then, if Anne's father is really acting in town to-night, we shall know what to do."

Accordingly, they tumbled into the road wagon, whipped up the horse and drove back to Oakdale as fast as they could go. On the way in, they saw a new bill posted on a wall, advertising a play ent.i.tled "Forsaken." It showed, in vivid colors, a young girl very ragged and tired looking, asleep on the steps of a large church.

"Let's go to the show," cried Nora, who always managed to combine amus.e.m.e.nt with duty; "that is," she added, "if Anne's father is in it.

Of course, Anne will probably be somewhere about, in that case, and we could spirit her away while he is acting."

"That isn't a bad idea," answered David. "But I'd better find out a few things first. I'll come over to your house, Grace, and report," he called as he jumped out of the back of the cart.

The girls waited impatiently for his return, feeling that every moment Anne might be speeding away in some outgoing train, and they were losing valuable time. Grace had thought of consulting her mother, her best and wisest counsellor at all times, but Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe had gone on a long drive to the home of Mrs. Harlowe's mother and would not return until late that night. In half an hour their patience was rewarded; the gate clicked and David ran breathlessly up the walk, joining them presently in the parlor.

"It's true," he cried excitedly. "Anne is at the Spencer Arms, probably locked up in a room. Her father is acting to-night in 'Forsaken,' and the whole company leaves town on the 11.30 train. I suppose Anne must go to the theater, for there will be no time to go back to the hotel after the play. I got the whole thing out of the clerk."

"Then we can all go to the theater," cried Nora triumphantly.

"What good will that do Anne?" demanded practical Grace.

"It may do her no good whatever," said David, "but it would be well not to lose sight of the father, even, if we must follow him to the train.

And if Anne knows we are near, she will be able to get back her nerve."

"Children," cried Grace suddenly, "I have a scheme. I won't put it into action unless it's absolutely necessary, but it's bound to work."

"What is it?" demanded the others.

"I won't tell," replied Grace mysteriously, "because I may not have to use it, and I'll warn you that it's rather dangerous. But it will save Anne, and we just mustn't get caught."

CHAPTER X

GRACE KEEPS HER SECRET

The "best" Oakdale people did not often see the melodramas that appeared from time to time at the small opera house. Occasionally, if something really good came along, Oakdale society turned out in force and filled the boxes and the orchestra seats; but, generally speaking, the little theater was only half filled.

And such was the case on this Thanksgiving night. Most of the audience was made up of farmers out holiday-making with their families, factory girls from the silk mills and a few storekeepers and clerks.

"I am glad there are so few people here," observed Grace, looking around the scanty audience; "because, if we have to resort to my scheme, it will make it much easier and less dangerous."

"What in the world is it?" pleaded Jessica.

"Never mind," answered her friend. "I'm afraid you'll object, so I won't tell until the last minute."

Just then a wheezy orchestra struck up a march and the High School party settled down in their seats, each with a secret feeling that it was rather good fun, in spite of the peculiar reason that had taken them there.

"Here he is," said Nora, pointing to the name on the programme. "He takes the part of Amos Lord, owner of the woolen mills."

At that moment the lights went down and the music stopped short. The curtain rolled up slowly disclosing the front of a church. It was night and lights gleamed through the stained gla.s.s windows. Snow was falling and from the church came the sound of organ music playing the wedding march. The picture was really very impressive, although the music was somewhat throaty and the flakes of snow were larger than life-size.

But who was it half lying, half sitting on the church steps, shivering with cold?

The girls had not been so often to the theater that they could afford to be disdainful over almost any pa.s.sable play, and from the very moment the curtain went up their interest was aroused. Certainly, there was something extremely romantic and interesting about the lonely little figure on the church steps.

"That's the heroine," whispered Jessica. "Her name is Evelyn Chase."

Then people began to go into the church. It was a wedding evidently, although the groom was a tall, lean, middle-aged individual with gray hair.

"It's Mr. Pierson himself," exclaimed Nora in a loud whisper.

The bride-to-be was young and quite pretty. She was not dressed in white, but it was plain she was the bride because she carried a bouquet and hung on the arm of Anne's incorrigible parent. As they started up the steps, what should they stumble over but the half-frozen form of the young girl!

Then, there was a great deal of acting, not badly done at all, thought David, who had had more experience in these matters than his friends.

The bride refused to go on with the ceremony until the poor little thing was taken care of. The groom would brook no delay, for, oh, perfidy, he had recognized in the still figure his own child by a former wife deserted years before.

Slowly the forsaken girl regained consciousness, lifted her head from the steps, threw back her shawl, and----

"Heavens and earth, it's Anne herself!" exclaimed Grace.

It was Anne. They were so startled and amazed they nearly tumbled off their seats.

"As I live, it is Anne, and acting beautifully!" whispered David.

"Where did she learn how?" demanded Jessica. "Strange she never told it."

But they were too interested to reply, for the action of the play was excellent and the interest held until the curtain rang down on the first act.

"No wonder he wants to keep her with him," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed David when the lights went up. "She is the star performer in the show."

"She is wonderful," declared Grace. "To think that little, brown, quiet thing could be so talented! I always imagined acting was the hardest thing in the world to do, but it seems as though she had always been on the stage."

"Are we still going to try to save her?" asked Nora.

"Of course," replied David. "She doesn't want to act. Didn't you hear her say so that night? She wants to go to school."

"But it seems a pity, somehow, when she is so talented."

"She's just as talented in her studies," said Grace, "and I've often heard that stage life is very hard. No, no! I intend to do my best to get Anne away this very night, if it upsets the entire town of Oakdale."

When the second act was over, and Anne had actually so moved her audience that one old farmer was audibly sobbing into a red cotton handkerchief, and the girls themselves were secretly wiping their eyes, Grace whispered to David:

"I'm going to write a note, if you'll lend me a pencil and a slip of paper, and wrap it around the stem of this chrysanthemum. When Anne appears in the next act, you go up in the box, and if she's alone an instant pitch it to her. Then she will know what she's to do."

"But what is she to do?" demanded the others.