The girl visitors from Briarwood Hall did all they could to help the
mistress of Sunrise Farm and Madge prepare for the evening festivities,
and not alone in employing the attention of the six little girls from
the orphanage.
There were the decorations to arrange, and the paper lanterns to hang,
and the long tables on the porch to prepare for the supper. Twelve
extra, hungry little mouths to feed was, of itself, a fact of no small
importance.
When the wagon had come up from Caslon's with the orphans, Mrs. Steele
had thought it rather a liberty on the part of the farmer's wife because
she had, with the children, sent a great hamper of cakes, which she
(Mrs. Caslon) herself had baked the day before.
But the cakes were so good, and already the children were so hungry,
that the worried mistress of the big farm was thankful that these
supplies were in her pantry.
"When the boys come back from the pond, I expect they will be ravenous,
too," sighed the good lady. "_Do_ you think, Madge, that there will be
enough ham and tongue sandwiches for supper? I am sure of the cream and
cake--thanks to that good old woman (though I hope your father won't hear
me say it). But that is to be served after the fireworks. They will want
something hearty at suppertime--and goodness me, Madge! It is five
o'clock now. Those boys should be back from their swim."
As for Mr. Steele, he was immensely satisfied with the celebration of
the day so far. To tell the truth, he had very little to do with the
work of getting ready for the orphans' entertainment. Aside from the
explosion of the fireworks in the cart, the occasion had been a
perfectly "safe and sane" celebration of a holiday that he usually
looked forward to with no little dread.
Before anybody really began to worry over their delay, the boys came
into view. They had had a refreshing swim and announced the state of
their appetites the moment they joined the girls at the big tent.
"Yes, yes," said Madge, "we know all about that, Bobbie dear. But his
little tootie-wootsums must wait till hims gets his bib put on, an' let
sister see if his hannies is nice and clean. Can't sit down to eat if
hims a dirty boy," and she rumpled her big brother's hair, while he
looked foolish enough over her "baby talk."
"Don't be ridiculous, Madge," said Helen, briskly. "Of course they are
hungry---- But where's the rest of them?"
"The rest of what?" demanded Busy Izzy. "I guess we're all here."
"Say! you _must_ be hungry," chuckled Heavy. "Did you eat the kids?"
"What kids?" snapped Tom, in sudden alarm.
"The fresh airs, of course. The 'terrible twins' and their mates. My
goodness!" cried Ann Hicks, "you didn't forget and leave them down there
at the pond, did you?"
The boys looked at each other for a moment. "What's the joke?" Bobbins
finally drawled.
"It's no joke," Ruth said, quickly. "You don't mean to say that you
forgot those little boys?"
"Now, stop that, Ruth Fielding!" cried Isadore Phelps, very red in the
face. "A joke's a joke; but don't push it too far. You know very well
those kids came back up here more'n an hour ago."
"They didn't do any such thing," cried Sadie, having heard the
discussion, and now running out to the tent. "They haven't been near the
house since you big boys took them to the pond. Now, say! what d'ye know
about it?"
"They're playing a trick on us," declared Tom, gloomily.
"Let's hunt out in the stables, and around," suggested Ralph Tingley,
feebly.
"Maybe they went back to Caslon's," Isadore said, hopefully.
"We'll find out about that pretty quick," said Madge. "I'll tell father
and he'll send somebody down to see if they went there."
"Come on, boys!" exclaimed Tom, starting for the rear of the house.
"Those little scamps are fooling us."
"Suppose they _have_ wandered away into the woods?" breathed Ruth to
Helen. "Whatever shall we do?"
Sadie could not wait. She was unable to remain idle, when it was
possible that the twin brothers she had so lately rejoined, were in
danger. She flashed after the boys and hunted the stables, too.
Nobody there had seen the "fresh airs" since they had followed the
bigger boys to the pond.
"And ye sure didn't leave 'em down there?" demanded Sadie Raby of Tom.
"Goodness me! No!" exclaimed Tom. "They couldn't go in swimming as we
did, and so they got mad and wouldn't stay. But they started right up
this way, and we thought they were all right."
"They might have slanted off and gone across the fields to Caslon's,"
said Bobbins, doubtfully.
"That would have taken them into the back pasture where Caslon keeps his
Angoras--wouldn't it?" demanded the much-worried young man.
"Well, you can go look for 'em with the goats," snapped Sadie, starting
off. "But me for that Caslon place. If they didn't go there, then they
are in the woods somewhere."
She started down the hill, fleet-footed as a dog. Before Mr. Steele had
stopped sputtering over the catastrophe, and bethought him to start
somebody for the Caslon premises to make inquiries, Sadie came in view
again, with the old, gray-mustached farmer in tow.
The serious look on Mr. Caslon's face was enough for all those waiting
at Sunrise Farm to realize that the absent children were actually lost.
Tom and Bobbins had come up from the goat pasture without having seen,
or heard, the six little fellows.
"I forgot to tell ye," said Caslon, seriously, "that ye had to keep one
eye at least on them 'terrible twins' all the time. We locked 'em into
their bedroom at night. No knowin' when or where they're likely to break
out. But I reckoned this here sister of theirs would keep 'em close to
her----"
"Well!" snapped Sadie Raby, eyeing Tom and Bobbins with much disfavor,
"I thought that a bunch of big fellers like them could look after half a
dozen little mites."
Mr. Steele had come forward slowly; the fact that the six orphan boys
really seemed to be lost, was an occasion to break down even _his_
barrier of dislike for the neighbor. Besides, Mr. Caslon ignored any
difference there might be between them in a most generous manner.
"I blame myself, Neighbor Steele--I sure do," Mr. Caslon said, before the
owner of Sunrise Farm could speak. "I'd ought to warned you about them
twins. They got bit by the runaway bug bad--that's right."
"Humph! a family trait--is it?" demanded Mr. Steele, rather grimly eyeing
the sister of the runaways.
"I couldn't say about that," chuckled the farmer. "But Willie and Dickie
started off twice from our place, trailin' most of the other kids with
'em. But I caught 'em in time. Now, their sister tells me, they've got
at least an hour and a half's start."
"It is getting dark--or it will soon be," said Mr. Steele, nervously. "If
they are not found before night, I shall be greatly disturbed. I feel as
though I were responsible. My oldest boy, here----"
"Now, it ain't nobody's fault, like enough," interrupted Mr. Caslon,
cheerfully, and seeing Bobbins's woebegone face. "We'll start right out
and hunt for them."
"But if it grows dark----"
"Let me have what men you can spare, and all the lanterns around the
place," said Caslon, briskly, taking charge of the matter on the
instant. "These bigger boys can help."
"I--I can go with you, sir," began Mr. Steele, but the farmer waved him
back.
"No. You ain't used to the woods--nor to trampin'--like I be. And it won't
hurt your boys. You leave it to us--we'll find 'em."
Mrs. Steele had retired to the tent on the lawn in tears, and most of
the girls were gathered about her. Sadie Raby clung to Farmer Caslon's
side, and nobody tried to call her back.
Since returning from Darrowtown that morning, Ruth Fielding had divulged
to Mr. Steele all she had discovered through Miss True Pettis regarding
the Raby family, and about the Canadian lawyer who had once searched for
Mrs. Raby and her children.
The gentleman had expressed deep interest in the matter, and while the
fresh air children were being entertained during the afternoon, Mr.
Steele had already set in motion an effort to learn the whereabouts of
Mr. Angus MacDorough and to discover just what the property was that had
been willed to the mother of the Raby orphans.
Sadie had been told nothing about this wonderful discovery as yet.
Indeed, there had been no time. Sadie had been busy, with Mrs. Steele
and the others, in preparing for that "safe and sane" celebration with
which Mr. Steele had desired to entertain the "terrible twins" and their
little companions at Sunrise Farm.
Now this sudden catastrophe had occurred. The loss of the six little
boys was no small trouble. It threatened to be a tragedy.
Down there beyond the pond the mountainside was heavily timbered, and
there were many dangerous ravines and sudden precipices over which a
careless foot might stray.
Dusk was coming on. In the wood it would already be dark. And if the
frightened children went plunging about, seeking, in terror, to escape,
they might at any moment be cast into some pit where the searchers would
possibly never find them.
Mr. Steele felt his responsibility gravely. He was, at best, a nervous
man, and this happening assumed the very gravest outlines in his anxious
mind.
"Never ought to have let them out of my own sight," he sputtered, having
Ruth for a confidant. "I might have known something extraordinary would
happen. It was a crazy thing to have all those children up here,
anyway."
"Oh, dear, Mr. Steele!" cried Ruth, much worried, "_that_ is partly my
fault. I was one of those who suggested it."
"Nonsense! nonsense, child! Nobody blames you," returned the gentleman.
"I should have put my foot down and said 'No.' Nobody influenced me at
all. Why--why, I _wanted_ to give the poor little kiddies a nice time.
And now--see what has come of it?"
"Oh, it may be that they will be found almost at once," cried Ruth,
hopefully. "I am sure Mr. Caslon will do what he can----"
"Caslon's an eminently practical man--yes, indeed," admitted Mr. Steele,
and not grudgingly. "If anybody can find them, he will, I have no
doubt."
And this commendation of the neighbor whom he so disliked struck Ruth
completely silent for the time being.