Dorothy's Travels Part 23

"Who did what? Have you lost your common sense?"

Then it all came out, the whole miserable story; in broken sentences, with keenest regret now, unhappy Anton told of Molly's following, of the trick he had played upon her, and of the fact that she was now wandering somewhere in that wild forest alone, save for old Queenie.

But the story was not ended before every member of that startled group was on his feet, ready for search and rescue. Though he could almost have killed the lad where he cowered, so furious was his wrath and terrible his fear, the Judge controlled himself and sternly ordered:

"With me you come, Anton. Close to me you keep and lead me to the last spot where you left my child. If we find her not--"

He did not need to finish his sentence with a threat, nor did he wait for the horse which Merimee made haste to catch and saddle. On foot he started, Anton held by an iron grasp, and they two were out of sight before the others had quite realized that they were even moving.

Old Merimee took charge without question; organizing his little company into bands of two and directing each pair to take a separate route through the woods, but all verging toward the east and the distant farmhouse. He arranged that all, carrying guns, should agree upon certain signals; one shot meant distress, two reports called for reinforcement by the nearest searchers; and three--or a succession of more--good news, that the work had happily ended and the word was: "Back to the camp!"

The old college president took Montmorency as his aide, with the clannish instinct of two New Englanders for one another's company.

Indeed, this odd pair had been almost constant companions since they entered the woods, and the lad had found the alert old man the "jolliest 'boy' he had ever chummed with."

The surgeon called Melvin to share his own search and the merchant strode st.u.r.dily forward in the wake of Merimee, the guide; who delayed but long enough to cover the fire and to sling over his shoulder a hunting-horn. He had often used this for four-footed game, and might now as a call to the Judge's lost daughter. Seeing Merimee do this sent Melvin also back to his tent, yet only for a moment. Then he ran after his partner and disappeared in the gloom of the forest.

Back at Farmer Grimm's, when Molly rode out of the grounds, there had been none to see her go except one of the maids, drooping with sick-headache against the back porch. Even she had scarcely realized the fact, so absorbed was she by her own physical misery. There her mistress found her and promptly despatched her to her room and bed, until she should recover, and it was not till some hours later that she descended to find the house in a turmoil of search and anxiety. At dinner-time, Mrs. Hungerford had bidden Dorothy to call Molly; adding a warning word:

"Tell her, Dolly dear, that she must come at once. Too often she lingers and keeps Mrs. Grimm waiting. That isn't right because this household is managed as systematically as your own Academy in school time. Be sure and tell her."

"Yes, Auntie Lu, when I find her," answered Dorothy, speeding out of doors, while the lady looked after her with more than ordinary interest; thinking: "What a dear, bonny creature that child is! And I am so glad, I hope so much for her now. I'm sure Schuyler will bid me go ahead and write, or will send a note to be forwarded. I can hardly wait for the outcome of the matter, but Dorothy must know nothing--nothing--until just the right moment. Then for the climax, and G.o.d grant it be a happy one!"

She sat down on the broad sill by the open window to wait for the girls, lost in her own happy thoughts, until Miss Greatorex came and asked:

"Did you know that dinner had been served some moments and is fast getting cold? It's mutton to-day, and Mrs. Grimm is fretting that 'mutton must be eaten hot to be good.'"

"So late? I was musing over something--didn't notice. Have the girls come in without my seeing them?"

"Neither of them."

"That's odd. By the way, when did you see Molly?"

"A few moments after breakfast, I think. I've been writing all morning at that further window and have scarcely looked out. Why?"

"She hasn't been in and dearly as she loves riding I never knew her to keep on with it so long, unless she was off with the farmer. I sent Dolly to call her and now she delays, too."

"Very well, _I_ will find Dorothy!" said Miss Isobel, with an air of authority. She considered Mrs. Hungerford quite too indulgent to her niece and was all the more strict with her own especial charge for that reason. She now left the room with a firm step and was still wearing an air of discipline when she came upon Dorothy emerging from the stables.

The child looked perplexed and a trifle frightened. She didn't wait for her governess to upbraid her but began at once:

"Oh, dear Miss Isobel! I can't find her anywhere! n.o.body has seen her and Queenie isn't in her stall. I've been to my corncrib, the garden, the long orchard all through, and yet she isn't. Ah! There's Mr. Grimm!

He's finished his dinner already and is going back to the hay-fields.

Please excuse me, I'll run ask him if he's seen her."

"Best not delay longer yourself, Dorothy--" called Miss Greatorex, but for once her charge did not pause at this tone of reproof; and a first, faint feeling of alarm rose in her own breast.

"Molly, la.s.sie? No, indeed! I haven't seen her to-day. I was off to work before she came down stairs, but I've been wishing for her and you, too, the livelong day. The wild-roses that you love are blooming wonderful.

All my far-away meadows are hedged with them as perfect as if they'd been set out a-purpose. Miles of them, I fancy, are on this old farm; but little golden-haired Molly's the sweetest wild-rose I've seen this summer. For you're no wild rose, la.s.sie. You're one of those 'cinnamons,' home-keepers, close by the old house and that the Missus claims are the prettiest in all the world. So there's a compliment for the pair of you! Wait till I whistle! Mistress Molly knows that it means: 'Come! I'm waiting for your company!' 'Twill fetch her, sure, if she's within the sound of it."

So he put his hands to his lips and whistled as only he could do, a long, musical note of call that reached far and wide and that the missing girl had often likened to the sound of Melvin's bugle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "QUEENIE TOO, HAD HEARD."

_Dorothy's Travels._]

But there came no answer of Queenie's footfalls over the gravel nor their soft thud-thud upon the gra.s.s, and the farmer felt he could delay no longer. Yet, could he go? While his little "comrade" was missing?

Silly, to feel a moment's alarm at such a trivial thing. A thoughtless la.s.sie, sure she was, this little maid of the far-away southland; but oh! so "winsie." No. Let the hay wait. He'd tarry a bit longer and be on hand to scold Fair-Hair when she came galloping back with a string of merry excuses tumbling off her nimble tongue, her ready "I forgots" or "I didn't thinks"--the teasing, adorable witch that she was!

"Fetch me my pipe and my paper, Dorothy, girl. I'll wait under this apple tree till she comes. But do you all get your dinners and not so many go hungry because one wild child loiters. A whisper! The missus is getting a trifle crisp, in the kitchen yon. She's missing the nap that is due her as soon as her people are fed. Best make haste. It's pleasanter for all on the Farm when Missus is left to go her gait regular, without hindrance from any. Go, little maid, and a blessing on you."

So she ran and brought him his pipe and his paper, received a kiss for her pains, and left him on the bench under the apple-tree, idle because little Molly was idle--no better reason than that--though this was his busiest time and he a most busy man.

But Mrs. Hungerford could not eat, even though courtesy compelled her to table and to taste the good fare provided. Her want of appet.i.te banished Miss Isobel's, and though Dorothy was healthily hungry, as why shouldn't she be? even she sent away her plate untouched, and was the first of the trio to put into words the dreadful fear that was in all their hearts:

"I can't, I can't eat! Something has happened to Molly! Something terrible has come to our Molly!"

That ended waiting. After that the farmer promptly summoned his men, the mistress her maids, and a thorough search of all the premises began.

Over the old-fashioned well with its long sweep poor Aunt Lu hovered like a creature distraught.

That well had held a fascination for the novelty-loving Molly, in this case its age being the to her new thing. She had tried her own strength in lifting the great beam and lowering the bucket from its pole; and, perhaps, she had done so now and had fallen over the curb into the depths below!

In vain did the others tell her how almost impossible this would have been; she could not be dissuaded, and most earnestly begged the farmer to have someone search the well.

"No, no, dear madam. Not till we've tried other more likely spots first.

The last time Molly was seen was on Queenie's back. Well, then we have only to find the sorrel and we'll find the child. Take comfort. That up-and-a-coming little la.s.s isn't down anybody's well. Not she."

There were many barns and outbuildings on that big farm; some new and modern, some old and disused. Not one was left unsearched. All work stopped. Haymakers and ploughmen left their fields to add their willing feet and keen eyes to the business, and up-garret, down cellar, through dairies, pantries, unused chambers, everywhere within doors the troubled housemistress led her own corps of searchers, and always without result. This had been a foregone conclusion yet she left nothing undone that might lead to the discovery of the missing girl; while the longer they sought the deeper the conviction grew in all those anxious hearts: "Molly is lost."

It was the maid with the headache who furnished the first clue. Coming below after her hours of rest, she found the kitchen deserted, and all labor at a standstill. Hearing voices without she questioned the first she met and was told in faltering tones:

"The bonny little maid is--lost!"

"_Lost?_ Where, then, is Anton?"

"Gone with a parcel to the far-away camp. The mistress sent him for Mrs.

Hungerford."

"Well, but, the maid was with him. That is she sought to be. I heard her call after him as he rode away and I thought her cries would split my aching head. He was galloping out of the far gate and she a-chase. They need not seek her hereabouts."

Said the mistress, in vast relief:

"I might have known. I might have guessed. He a mischievous tease, she a wild, impulsive child." Then she hurried to poor Auntie Lu, sitting disconsolate beside the well with Dorothy clasping her hand in her own small ones, trying to comfort as best she could, and exclaimed: "Fear no more! We should have thought at once the prank that madcap would be at!

She saw Anton ride away to the camp and she has followed him. The maid who was ill remembers. She is safe with her father long before this.

Come in by, now, come in and have a cup of tea. A cup of tea will set you up again like anything."

Aunt Lu was greatly cheered but it took more than the other's panacea of a "cup of tea" to banish all anxiety; yet in the hope that had been raised she pa.s.sed the remainder of that dreadful day as calmly as she could and without burdening others with the fear which still lingered in her heart.

Upon his wife's report the farmer left off prying into all the home places and saddled his fleetest horse. He sent all the men back to the fields to house the abandoned hay machines and rusting ploughs, and to attend the many duties of so great a farm. But he took one man with him and a "snack" of supper in their pockets. It would be a long ride there and back and a detour might be necessary. Wherever he found sign of the child's wandering, should she by chance have lost the trail of Anton, whom she followed, he would keep to the signs and not the shortest route. Many a place there was, of course, where even the surest-footed horse could not travel, and only a foot pa.s.sage be made with difficulty.