"Are you thinking she might have been washed away by the waves?" asked King, in a quivering voice.
"That's all I can think of," replied Mr. Bryant, grimly.
"But it isn't likely, Cousin Jack. Mopsy is really a heavyweight, you know. And there's not a very big surf on now."
"That's so, King. But where can she be?" Then they went and talked with the fishermen, and then on to the Life-saving Station.
The big, good-hearted men all knew Marjorie, and all declared she had not been on the beach that afternoon,—at least, not within their particular locality.
Discouraged, Cousin Jack and King turned down toward the pier. Their inquiries were fruitless; though many people knew Midget, by sight, none had seen her. There was nothing to do but go back home.
"Have you found her?" cried Cousin Ethel, as they entered the house.
"No; but the beach people haven't seen her, so I'm sure there's no accident of that sort." Cousin Jack wouldn't make use of the word drowning, but they all knew what he meant.
Mrs. Maynard sat staring, in a sort of dull apathy. She couldn't realize that Marjorie was lost, she couldn't believe an accident had befallen her, yet, where was she?
"Let's search the house," she said, jumping up suddenly. "I must do something. Couldn't she have gone somewhere to read quietly, and fallen asleep?"