“Good for the kiddies!” he cried. “I like little folks with some fun in them. If they jump out of a cupboard at me, they’ll catch a rousing reception.”
He smiled broadly, and looked about for some laughing faces to appear suddenly.
“It’s nice of you to be so indulgent,” said Miss Larkin, but she herself was far from pleased. She had hoped to present four demure and prettily-dressed children, whose manners should seem above reproach even to exacting Mrs. Mortimer.
However, there was no sight or sound of the Maynard quartette, so the guests were shown to their rooms by Sarah, while Miss Larkin laid aside her own wraps, and then went to the kitchen to see that dinner was progressing properly.
“Where do you suppose the children are, Ellen?” she asked of the cook.
The good-natured face of the Irishwoman looked a little anxious, as she replied:
“Shure, I dunno, ma’am. I’m thinkin’ it’s not hidin’ they do be, fer they’d be fer bowsin’ out afore this. No, Miss Larkin, they must ’ave went out to meet the kerridge, an’ thin, their attintion bein’ divarted, they’ve wint som’ers else.”
“Oh, nonsense, Ellen; they wouldn’t go off like that, without hats, and with their best clothes on.”
“It’s no sayin’ what them childher wud or wuddent do, ma’am. There’s nothin’ I’d put past ’em; nothin’ at all, ma’am!”
“Well, but, Ellen—if they’re not in the house—if they’ve wandered away, we ought to send some one after them. It’s dark now, and they should be at home.”