"What are we doing, Grandfather?" asked Mary Jane as she trotted along
behind her grandfather and Bob. "What are we doing and where are we
going and who's the thief?"
"No time to talk," called Grandfather over his shoulder. "You'll see!
Come along and take hold of my hand."
Mary Jane ran as fast as ever she could till she caught up with her
grandfather and got a firm hold of his hand. Then she felt better: for
when a little girl doesn't know what _is_ going on, she wants to have
hold of _something_--you know how that is yourself. Bob led them out
of the corner of the garden; across the small cornfield back of the
barn; across the pasture and into the woods beyond. There he stopped
and sniffed in the bushes and through the dead leaves in what Mary Jane
thought was the most curious way she had ever seen a dog act.
"Well!" exclaimed Grandfather disgustedly, "if you can't find him any
better than that--I'll hunt myself!" And to Mary Jane's amazement, he
too, began hunting in the piles of dead leaves where Bob was diligently
sniffing.