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The marked paragraph was one of several in the column and read as follows: "It is stated upon good authority that the great Ida Bellethorne will arrive at Cliffdale, New York, within a day or two, and will remain for the winter." "Why, how odd," murmured Betty. "And did this make Ida go away?" "She has gone to Cliffdale to meet her aunt. That was her intention," said Mrs. Staples.
Gordon encouraged the English girl at this point in her story by assuring her that he would, before returning to Canada, put the matter in the hands of his lawyers and have the search for the elder Ida Bellethorne conducted in a more businesslike way. "How did you expect to find your aunt," he asked, "when you first landed in New York?"
The snow was melting all about, turning black and yellow in streaks. Betty did not know how long this would keep up; but every minute she delayed poor Hunchie paid for in continued suffering. "We must do it!" she shrieked to the horse. "You've got to there!" She whipped off her velvet hat and struck Ida Bellethorne again and again. The mare crouched, measured the distance, and leaped into the air.
'The great Ida Bellethorne'. That means she is a great singer of course." "Yes, I see," replied Bob, giving some attention to the steering of the car. "But there is one thing about you girls you never read the sporting page of the newspaper." "What is that?" gasped Bobby Littell. "This string of items you handed me is torn out of the sporting page. All the paragraphs refer to racing matters.
That his mind was engaged with the problem of Betty's lost trinket was proved by what he said on the way back to Fairfields: "I suppose you spoke to all the clerks you traded with in those stores, Betty?" "Why, yes. All but Ida Bellethorne, Bob." "And Mrs. Staples said she didn't know anything about Betty's locket," Bobby put in.
Bolter gave me a good job with 'er. I goes with Ida Bellethorne wherever she goes. That's the " "Ida Bellethorne?" interrupted Betty in amazement "Yes, Miss. That's 'er nyme. Ida Bellethorne. She comes of the true Bellethorne stock. The last of the breed out o' the Bellethorne stables, Miss." "Ida Bellethorne!" exclaimed Betty again. "Isn't that odd? A horse and a girl of the same name!"
Thus encouraged, the girl began, and she did tell it in her own way. But it was not a brief way, and both Mr. Gordon and Betty asked questions and that, too, increased the difficulty of Ida's telling her story. She had been the only living child of Gwynne Bellethorne, who had been a horse breeder and sometimes a turfman in one of the lower English counties.
But she knew her dreams were dreams, and her imaginings unreal. It struck her that the name "Ida Bellethorne" was more suitable for a horse than for a girl.
Well for her and for Betty that Ida Bellethorne had a good pedigree; had come of a long line of forebears that had been taught to jump hedges, fences, water-holes and bogs. None of them had ever made such a perilous leap as this! The mare landed in softening snow, for the scathing flames were melting the drifts on either side.
And in all this snow? Oh, this is a wilderness a wilderness! How do people ever live here, even in the summer? It is dreadful dreadful! And I thought I should freeze." "Ida Bellethorne!" gasped Betty. "Who would ever have expected to find you here?" "I know I haven't any more business here than I have in the moon," said the English girl. "I I wish I'd never left Mrs. Staples." "Mrs.
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