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CHAPTER XXIII – LOST

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.

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 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.