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; nobody has seen a band of people answering to the descriptions you
gave of The Wren's abductors.
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