Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm Part 28

"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 d.i.c.kie 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 n.o.body'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 n.o.body 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 a.s.sumed 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! n.o.body blames you," returned the gentleman.

"I should have put my foot down and said 'No.' n.o.body 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.

CHAPTER XXIV-"SO THAT'S ALL RIGHT"

"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 circ.u.mstances. 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 appet.i.te. 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.