Hour of Enchantment A Mystery Story for Girls

“They say,” Florence murmured to herself, as she left the Enchanted Island that night, “that murderers always return to the scene of their crimes. That long-eared Chinaman did n...

Again, for a moment, she gave herself over to a study of the magnificent panorama that lay before her. She was poised, like a pigeon in a belfry, but oh, so high up! Six hundred...

“Why should I find myself intrigued by a mere Oriental dagger and one small Chinaman with long ears?” she asked herself, “when a thousand mysteries of science, chemistry, light,...

On reaching the Tavern Jeanne found herself in a high state of agitation. The hour was late. How late? This she could not tell. Had she missed her appointment? Would the movie q...

Florence never tired of her work on the Enchanted Island. On this island which man by his ingenuity and tireless energy had drawn from the very bottom of the lake, children romp...

It was the crew of smiling blacks who carried Florence and Jeanne back to shore. A stout little tug came out for the Polar ship, but that was too slow for them.

Why did Petite Jeanne sleep all day to haunt strange places in the night? Who can say? Why do certain birds deep in the forest sing only at night? Why do all manner of wild thin...

Erik Nord was to be found anywhere and everywhere. Young, very strong, full of the vigor of youth, he was in what was to him a strange land—America. Little wonder, then, that an...

While Jeanne was making the rather disturbing discovery that when you take over a double’s labors you take over her friends as well, Florence was listening to words that, now th...

“But it _is_ too bad it is not to be a real picture.” There was genuine sadness in the little mountain girl’s tone. “I’ve seen some mountain pictures. They are so, so terrible!...

It was night. All alone Jeanne sat upon the side of that man-made section of Big Black Mountain there on the studio lot in Chicago. The faint light that reached her, coming from...

This brief period of rest was the last Petite Jeanne was to enjoy for many days. The work on that little section of Big Black Mountain progressed more rapidly than had been expe...

It was only a fishing boat headed for the dock. This craft smelled of herring and tar, but she carried, too, a hearty welcome such as one might not find on a handsomer boat.

If Jeanne carried her heart in her mouth as she passed through the gate and walked out on the lot of that “Little Bit of Hollywood” in Chicago that day, neither her face nor her...

“If they are here still, you may throw them out of the window. See, you have my permission.” Crowding past her, Jeanne entered their living room and snapped on the light.

As she boarded the down-going car, the girl’s mind flashed through the incidents leading up to this strange chase, and then came bang up against a problem with no certain answer...

Not so Petite Jeanne. If you have read of her at all you will know that as a child she had been a vagabond with gypsies of France, a very beautiful vagabond, an accomplished dan...

When Erik Nord and Florence caught sight of the long-eared Chinaman placidly cruising the lagoon in a Dodge-Em, Erik, as we have said, led the girl away in hot pursuit.

“Tell me about that mysterious land, China.” Florence settled back in her place in the stupid little Dodge-Em that, refusing to travel farther, had left them stalled far out on...

Florence awoke with a start. She sprang to her feet. Where was she? She knew on the instant, or thought she knew. But truly, where _was_ she? Cold fear gripped her heart. All th...

Long after Florence had retired for the night Jeanne paced slowly back and forth in that magnificently furnished living room. Her bare feet sank deep in the softest of Oriental...

“Of course, when I sail away on that glorious yachting party, you’ll come here to live.” That Lorena LeMar, Jeanne’s double, spoke in a matter-of-fact tone made no difference. J...

It was Florence who next saw the mysterious Chinaman, and that not an hour from the time he disappeared from Jeanne’s delectable mountain. Her day’s work at an end, she had reti...

For a full half hour the little French girl reposed upon that luxurious couch. Now and again her slender fingers touched the folds of her filmy gown. Often her eyes wandered fro...

“I promised to wait for Jeanne on Byrd’s Polar Ship,” she recalled. “I’ll go there now. Peter Nordsen, the watchman, will be there. People will be passing through. It will be sa...

By early afternoon Jeanne’s old cheerful smile was back again. And why not? Was she not seated between two friends, Jensie and Tom, studying the dialogue of this altogether abso...

“But can you not see?” Jeanne did not pause for an instant. “I am doing a gypsy dance, practicing for my so very wonderful moving picture. We begin rehearsals to-morrow, and mus...