"Well, if that isn't queer!" Louise looked at Bobby in doubt. "Where do you suppose she is hiding?"
Bobby, a furrow of anxiety between her eyes, searched the attic with level glances, her sisters and cousin watching her apprehensively.
"Something must have happened to her," Louise was beginning, when Bobby gave a cry and raced for the door.
"I'll bet I know where she went," she flung over her shoulder. "Haven't time—to stop—don't bother me——" She flew down the stairs, the others after her at top speed.
Down, down, down, through the third, second and first floors, the four girls fled like a whirlwind, down, always following flying Bobby, to the laundry in the basement where modern electric equipment made washing clothes a scientific process.
Bobby brought up her mad flight before a tall cupboard in one corner, turning the catch on the door, opened it and out tumbled—Betty!
"Are you hurt?" demanded Bobby, helping her to her feet. "Oh, Betty, darling, do say you're all right! It's a wonder you weren't suffocated or didn't break any bones."
"I'm all right," said Betty, smoothing out her skirts. "But I'm still a bit dazed. It was such a sudden drop. What have I done that I shouldn't, Bobby?"
Libbie, too, was bewildered, and stared at the disheveled Betty with puzzled wonder.
"Why, my dear child," explained Bobby, with a funny maternal manner, "you fell down the laundry shoot. It opens into the attic for good ventilation. I'm glad there were some soiled clothes at the bottom for you to land on, otherwise you might have had a bad bump. Sure you're all right?"