“Not a sign. When I got back the house was all locked up so I went over to see Patsy. The McGonigles had roast pork and sweet corn and potatoes, and they were just as thankful as anything.” Bert never lost an opportunity of bringing to light the virtues of the McGonigles.
“Never mind what the McGonigles had,” said Mr. Hollins; “what we are more interested in is the whereabouts of your sister.”
“I’ll bet she is hiding somewhere just to give us a scare,” declared Bert.
“Then you can go and find her,” suggested his father.
Upstairs and down tramped Bert, storming at last into the attic whose shadows and dark corners were rather disheartening to even an older person. Bert did not advance very far into the dim recesses, but, standing in the doorway, shouted stentoriously, “’Lizbeth! I say, ’Lizbeth, where are you?”
Then something happened. Mrs. Hollins appeared with a lamp. “I have just thought,” she murmured, and went straight to the door of the closet. She saw the key sticking in the lock, turned it and looked in to see an auburn head closely snuggled by the side of a dark brown one.
Bert peered around his mother’s shoulder. “Well, I’ll be switched if they’re not asleep,” he exclaimed.
Betsy sat up and rubbed her eyes. “It’s very smelly in here,” she remarked.
Bert went off into shouts of laughter which awakened his sister.
“You’ve come at last,” said Elizabeth, scrambling from her improvised couch. “We thought you never would come.”