"And here it is 'ong past suppertime," groaned Heavy; "it's getting
darker every minute, and the fireworks ought to be set off, and we can't
do a thing!"
"Who'd have the heart to eat, with those children wandering out there in
the woods?" snapped Mercy Curtis.
"What's _heart_ got to do with eating?" grumbled the plump girl. "And I
was thinking quite as much of the little girls here as I was of myself.
Why! here is one of the poor kiddies asleep, I do declare."
The party in the big tent was pretty solemn. Even the six little girls
from the orphanage could not play, or laugh, under the present
circumstances. And, in addition, it looked as though all the fun for the
evening would be spoiled.
The searching party had been gone an hour. Those remaining behind had
seen the twinkling lanterns trail away over the edge of the hill and
disappear. Now all they could see from the tent were the stars, and the
fireflies, with now and then a rocket soaring heavenward from some
distant farm, or hamlet, where the Glorious Fourth was being fittingly
celebrated.
Madge and Helen came out with a hamper of sandwiches and there was
lemonade, but not even the little folk ate with an appetite. The day
which, at Sunrise Farm, was planned to be so memorable, threatened now
to be remembered for a very unhappy cause.
Down in the wood lot that extended from below some of Mr. Steele's
hayfields clear into the next township, the little party of searchers,
led by old Mr. Caslon, had separated into parties of two each, to comb
the wilderness.
None of the men knew the wood as did Mr. Caslon, and of course the boys
and Sadie (who had refused to go back) were quite unfamiliar with it.
"Don't go out of sight of the flash of each other's lanterns," advised
the farmer.
And by sticking to this rule it was not likely that any of the sorely
troubled searchers would, themselves, be lost. As they floundered
through the thick undergrowth, they shouted, now and then, as loudly as
they could. But nothing but the echoes, and the startled nightbirds,
replied.
Again and again they called for the lost boys by name. Sadie's shrill
voice carried as far as anybody's, without doubt, and her crying for
"Willie" and "Dickie" should have brought those delinquents to light,
had they heard her.
Sadie stuck close to Mr. Caslon, as he told her to. But the way through
the brush was harder for the girl than for the rest of them. Thick mats
of greenbriars halted them. They were torn, and scratched, and stung by
the vegetable pests; yet Sadie made no complaint.
As for the mosquitoes and other stinging insects--well, they were out on
this night, it seemed, in full force. They buzzed around the heads of
the searchers in clouds, attracted by the lanterns. Above, in the trees,
complaining owls hooted their objections to the searchers' presence in
the forest. The whip-poor-wills reiterated their determination from dead
limbs or rotting fence posts. And in the wet places the deep-voiced
frogs gave tongue in many minor keys.
"Oh, dear!" sighed Sadie to the farmer, "the little fellers will be
scared half to death when they hear all these critters."
"And how about you?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm used to 'em. Why, I've slept out in places as bad as this
more'n one night. But Willie and Dickie ain't used to it."
One end of the line of searchers touched the pond. They shouted that
information to the others, and then they all pushed on. It was in the
mind of all that, perhaps, the children had circled back to the pond.
But their shouts brought no hoped-for reply, although they echoed across
the open water, and were answered eerily from the farther shore.
There were six couples; therefore the line extended for a long way into
the wood, and swept a wide area. They marched on, bursting through the
vines and climbers, searching thick patches of jungle, and often
shouting in chorus till the wood rang again.
Tom and one of the stablemen, who were at the lower end of the line,
finally came to the mouth of that gorge out of which the brook sprang.
To the east of this opening lay a considerable valley and it was decided
to search this vale thoroughly before following the stream higher.
It was well they did so, for half a mile farther on, Tom and his
companion made a discovery. They came upon the tall, blasted trunk of a
huge old tree that had a great hollow at its foot. This hollow was
blinded by a growth of vines and brush, yet as Tom flashed his lantern
upon it, it seemed to him as though the vines had been disturbed.
"It may be the lair of some animal, sir," suggested the stableman, as
Tom attempted to peer in.
"Nothing much more dangerous than foxes in these woods now, I am told,"
returned the boy. "And this is not a fox's burrow--hello!"
His sudden, delighted shriek rang through the wood and up the hillside.
"I've found them! I've found them!" the boy repeated, and dived into the
hollow tree.
His lantern showed him and the stableman the six wanderers rolled up
like kittens in a nest. They opened their eyes sleepily, yawning and
blinking. One began to snivel, but Willie Raby at once delivered a sharp
punch to that one, saying, in grand disgust:
"Baby! Didn't I tell you they'd come for us? They was sure to--wasn't
they, Dickie?"
"Yep," responded that youngster, quite as cool about it as his brother.
Tom's shouts brought the rest of the party in a hurry. Mr. Caslon hauled
each "fresh air" out by the collar and stood him on his feet. When he
had counted them twice over to make sure, he said:
"Well, sir! of all the young scamps that ever were born--Willie Raby!
weren't you scared?"
"Nope," declared Willie. "Some of these other kids begun ter snivel when
it got dark; but Dickie an' me would ha' licked 'em if they'd kep' that
up. Then we found that good place to sleep----"
"But suppose it had been the bed of some animal?" asked Bobbins,
chuckling.
"Nope," said Willie, shaking his head. "There was spider webs all over
the hole we went in at, so we knowed nobody had been there much lately.
And it was a pretty good place to sleep. Only it was too warm in there
at first. I couldn't get to sleep right away."
"But you didn't hear us shouting for you?" queried one of the other
searchers.
"Nope. I got to sleep. You see, I thought about bears an' burglars an'
goblins, an' all those sort o' things, an' that made me shiver, so I
went to sleep," declared the earnest twin.
A shout of laughter greeted this statement. The searchers picked up the
little fellows and carried them down to the edge of the pond, where the
way was much clearer, and so on to the plain path to Sunrise Farm.
So delighted were they to have found the six youngsters without a
scratch upon them, that nobody--not even Mr. Caslon--thought to ask the
runaways how they had come to wander so far from Sunrise Farm.
It was ten o'clock when the party arrived at the big house on the hill.
Isadore had run ahead to tell the good news and everybody was
aroused--even to the six fellow-orphans of the runaways--to welcome the
wanderers.
"My goodness! let's have the fireworks and celebrate their return,"
exclaimed Madge.
But Mr. Steele quickly put his foot down on that.
"I am afraid that Willie and Dickie, and Jim and the rest of them, ought
really to be punished for their escapade, and the trouble and fright
they have given us," declared the proprietor of Sunrise Farm.
"However, perhaps going without their supper and postponing the rest of
the celebration until to-morrow night, will be punishment enough. But
don't you let me hear of you six boys trying to run away again, while
you remain with Mr. and Mrs. Caslon," and he shook a threatening finger
at the wanderers.
"Now Mr. and Mrs. Caslon will take you home," for the big wagon had been
driven around from the stables while he was speaking. Mrs. Caslon, too
worried to remain in doubt about the fresh airs, had trudged away up the
hill to Sunrise Farm, while the party was out in search of the lost
ones.
Mrs. Steele and the girls bade a cordial good-night to the farmer's
wife, as she climbed up to the front seat of the vehicle on one side. On
the other, Mr. Steele stopped Mr. Caslon before he could climb up.
"The women folks have arranged for you and your wife to come to-morrow
evening and help take care of these little mischiefs, while we finish
the celebration," said the rich man, with a detaining hand upon Mr.
Caslon's shoulder. "We need you."
"I reckon so, neighbor," said the farmer, chuckling. "We're a little
more used to them lively young eels than you be."
"And--and we want you and your wife to come for your own sakes," added
Mr. Steele, in some confusion. "We haven't even been acquainted before,
sir. I consider that I am at fault, Caslon. I hope you'll overlook it
and--and--as you say yourself--_be neighborly_."
"Sure! Of course!" exclaimed the old man, heartily. "Ain't no need of
two neighbors bein' at outs, Mr. Steele. You'll find that soft words
butter more parsnips than any other kind. If you an' I ain't jest agreed
on ev'ry p'int, let's get together an' settle it ourselves. No need of
lawyers' work in it," and the old farmer climbed nimbly to the high
seat, and the wagon load of cheering, laughing youngsters started down
the hill.
"And so _that's_ all right," exclaimed the delighted Ruth, who had heard
the conversation between the two men, and could scarcely hide her
delight in it.
"I feel like dancing," she said to Helen. "I just _know_ Mr. Steele and
Mr. Caslon will understand each other after this, and that there will be
no quarrel between them over the farms."
Which later results proved to be true. Not many months afterward, Madge
wrote to Ruth that her father and the old farmer had come to a very
satisfactory agreement. Mr. Caslon had agreed to sell the old homestead
to Mr. Steele for a certain price, retaining a life occupancy of it for
himself and wife, and, in addition, the farmer was to take over the
general superintendency of Sunrise Farm for Mr. Steele, on a yearly
salary.
"So much for the work of the 'terrible twins'!" Ruth declared when she
heard this, for the girl of the Red Mill did not realize how much she,
herself, had to do with bringing about Mr. Steele's change of attitude
toward his neighbor.