The evening of the day that Rip had gone to the lake with Westy
following in his wake, Mr. Wilde and Billy returned to the cabin,
thoroughly tired and their clothes dripping wet.
“Guess the kids won’t be coming along to-night,” Mr. Wilde remarked to
Billy, who was kindling some logs in the fireplace.
“I should say not! Mrs. Redmond wouldn’t let them, I guess. Hospitality
is served with a capital H there.”
After supper with the wind howling all about and the rain pouring off
the roof, they sat down to read. Ten o’clock found Billy yawning.
“That means we’ll hope for a better day to-morrow,” said Mr. Wilde.
But when morning brought nothing more than the doleful swish of wind and
storm above their heads, they turned over with a sigh and slept until
almost noon.
“Well, no sign of those little tramps yet,” Mr. Wilde said, a cup of hot
coffee balanced in one hand and a two-weeks’-old copy of the Saturday
Evening Post in the other.
“Thought you read that all.” Billy pointed to the Post.
“I did. And I know all the ‘ads’ by heart, too!”
“What’s the idea then?”
“Only that I can never read at breakfast time home. When I’m away like
this I take a malicious delight in reading while I’m eating just because
my wife tells me it’s bad for the digestion and also a serious breach of
etiquette. Even though I’ve read these things over fifty times I enjoy
them as much as though I’d never laid eyes on them before. Only at
breakfast, though.”
“Why specify breakfast?”
“Because that’s when my wife don’t approve of me doing it.”
“Why, you’re no more grown up than Westy or Rip at that rate!”
“I know it! Show me any man who is--in his heart!”
With the night coming on and the rain still swirling about the cabin,
Mr. Wilde began to get a little anxious about the boys.
“Even as bad as it’s been to-day, I shouldn’t think those kids would
impose on the Redmonds’ good nature any longer. My heavens, a little
soaking won’t hurt them. They’re supposed to be scouts, not ninnies.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s the reason at all. I’ve an idea it’s just been
a treat for those people to have them as guests for these two desolate
nights and days. They’ve probably urged them, knowing we wouldn’t be
anxious.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Billy. They are old enough to take care of
themselves and know what’s the right thing to do. I guess we will see
them in the morning all right.”
It was almost noontime of the next day before Mr. Wilde and Billy were
all prepared to leave for the eastern end of the range.
Billy was inside getting the rest of his stuff together, while the older
man stood outside, waiting. He caught sight of Lola coming up the path
from the brook. She smiled sweetly as she came toward him.
“Do you feel like a bird to-day after all the rain?” she asked him.
“Indeed I do.”
“It isn’t possible that the boys aren’t up yet?”
“What? What did you say--not up?” He couldn’t seem to quite comprehend.
Billy came out after hearing her question and interrupted.
“Haven’t they been at your place these two nights past?”
“Why, no!” Her face went dead white as she remembered.
She told them the incident of the haunted region and about Westy’s
departure for the lake after Rip.
“I never dreamed but what they came back safely, Mr. Wilde, or I’d have
come here and told you.” Her voice was quivering and a tear slid down
her frightened face.
Mr. Wilde patted her shoulder comfortingly.
“There now, it isn’t your fault. They aren’t babies--but yet--they’ve
been gone since the day before yesterday....”