Betty went off in one direction and Bob in another, and for a moment she heard his merry whistling. Then all was silent.
Betty, for a little while, enjoyed her search. She had had no time to explore the Saunders farm, and though much of it was of a deadly sameness, the three hills, whose shadows rested always on the fields, were beautiful to see, and the air was wonderfully bracing. Shy jack rabbits dodged back and forth between the bushes as Betty walked, and once, when she investigated a thicket that looked as though it might shelter the truant Daisy, the girl disturbed a guinea hen that flew out with a wild flapping of wings.
“I don’t see where that cow can have gone,” murmured Betty uneasily. “Bob is never careless, and I’m sure he must have pegged her down carefully. Losing one of the cows is serious, for the aunts count every pint of milk; they have to, poor dears. I wish to goodness they would admit that there might be oil on the farm. I’m sure it irritates Bob to be told so flatly that he is dreaming day-dreams every time he happens to say a word about an oil well.”
Betty searched painstakingly, even going out into the road and hunting a short stretch, lest the cow should have strayed out on the highway. The fields through which she tramped were woefully neglected, and more than once she barely saved herself from a turned ankle, for the land was uneven and dead leaves and weeds filled many a hole. Evidently there had been no systematic cultivation of the farm for a number of years.
The sun was low when Betty finally came out in the pasture lot. She glanced toward the bars, saw one down, and sighed with relief. Bob, then, had found the cow, or at least he was at home. She knew that the chances were he had brought Daisy with him, for Bob had the tenacity of a bull-dog and would not easily abandon his hunt.
“Did Bob find her?” demanded Betty, bursting into the kitchen where Miss Hope and Miss Charity were setting the table for supper.
The aunts looked up, smiled at the flushed, eager face, and Miss Charity answered placidly.
“Bob hasn’t come back, dearie,” she said. “You know how boys are—he’ll probably look under every stone for that miserable Daisy. She’s a good cow, but to think she would run off!”
“Oh, he’s back, I know he is,” insisted Betty confidently. “I’ll run out to the barn. I guess he is going to do the chores before he comes in.”
She thought it odd that Bob had not told his aunts of his return, but she was so sure that he was in the barn that she shouted his name as she entered the door. Clover whinnied, but no voice answered her. Blossom was in her stanchion. Bob had placed her there before setting out to hunt, and everything was just as he had left it, even to his hammer lying on the barn floor.