On it was scrawled in almost illegible characters:

"U wont git hur agin.--The Romanys."

"The Romanys!" exclaimed Peggy.

"Yes; that's the gipsy word for themselves," said Mr. Parker. "I'm afraid that the same band that had her before has stolen her again."

"What are we to do?" wailed Bess.

"Hush!" said Jess; "let Mr. Parker decide what is best."

They stood about with dismayed faces.

Miss Prescott was weeping softly. Peggy could hardly keep back her tears. The little brown Wren had become very dear to all of them. It was a hard blow indeed to lose her like this.

"But how could they know that she was here?" objected Jimsy.

"Why, that silly newspaper report that went out when you arrived here about your adventures on the way and the romantic rescue of Wren. If they had come across that it would have given them a clew."

"They were traveling south then, Wren said, and that was two weeks ago.

They would have had ample time to reach this vicinity."

"That is so," rejoined Mr. Parker solemnly; "I'll make telephonic inquiries at once. They may have been seen in the vicinity."

"While you are doing that we'll examine the room. They may have left a clew there," said Roy.

Roy and Jimsy darted upstairs on this errand. On looking round the place it was clear enough how the abductors had gotten in. Outside the window was an extension roof. It would have been very easy for an active man such as gipsies usually are to have clambered in and out again without detection.

Taking a lantern they examined the ground outside. On a flower bed below the roof was the imprint of a man's feet.

"Notice anything peculiar about it?" asked Jimsy, for Roy was bending earnestly over the prints.

"Yes, I'd know that foot print again anywhere," he said; "see, one side of the man's boot was broken, the one of the right foot. His toes show here on the ground."

"That might be a good clew if it was daylight; but right now--"

Jimsy sighed. It was manifestly impossible to do any tracking of the man with the broken boot in the darkness.

"We'll have to wait till daylight."

"Yes, bother it all. They may be miles away by that time."

"I doubt it. I wouldn't wonder if they hide right around here. There are lots of good places, and they know that the hue and cry will be so hot that they would be caught if they traveled."

"That's so. Maybe we can find them, after all."

"Let's hope so. Well, we can do no more good here. Let's go in."

Peggy met them at the door. She seemed wildly excited over something.

"The mail rider's just been here," she exclaimed, "and listen to this letter. It's from a woman living near New York. She just got back from Europe and in an old newspaper she read an account of our sky cruise.

"She is certain that The Wren is her daughter and gives a description of her that tallies in every particular. She said that Wren was caught out in a heavy thunderstorm and sought refuge in a gipsy camp, as she learned afterward from a farmer who had seen her. She hunted high and low but has never since had word of the child. Her right name is Sylvia Harvey. Mrs. James Harvey is her mother, and she's rushing here as fast as a train will carry her."

"If it is really Sylvia Harvey then her mother has found her only to lose her again," sighed Jess.

"Don't say that," said Mr. Parker, coming into the room at that moment, "we'll leave no stone unturned to find her."

"Did you have any success with the telephone?"

"No; n.o.body has seen a band of people answering to the descriptions you gave of The Wren's abductors."

"Then we can do nothing more?"

The question came from Roy.

"Not to-night. It would be useless. I have notified all the police around and a general alarm will be sent out at once. And now I order every one to bed. We've hard work in front of us tomorrow."

CHAPTER XXVI.

CAPTURED BY GIPSIES.

About noon the next day Roy and Jimsy found themselves at the edge of a wild-looking section of country. They were standing at the entrance to a glen densely wooded with dark, forbidding-looking trees, and walled by precipitous and rugged rocks.

"Looks as if the trail ends here," said Jimsy disconsolately.

"It sure does. We can't----Gee, Whillikens!"

"What on earth is up now?"

"It's the broken-toed boot. Look here on the muddy bank of this little stream."

"By hooky, it is! We've struck the trail instead of ending it."

"What will we do; go back for reenforcements?"

"Not just yet. We'll reconnoiter a bit. See, the fellow went up this bank and--look there, Jimsy--there's a little footprint beside. He was dragging the child along."

With beating hearts the two boys entered the forbidding-looking glen. It was almost dark under the trees, which made the aspect of the place even more gloomy and desolate looking.

"This is a nice, cheerful sort of place," said Jimsy, in a low tone, as they walked along, following the bank of the stream, for the brush was too thick to admit of their walking anywhere else, which is what had driven the broken-booted man to leave a tell-tale trail behind him.

"I rather wish I had a gun," said Jimsy.