“An’ where wud ye be sindin’ to, ma’am? Shure they might be over to Mis’ Spencer’s—I jist thought o’ that.”
“I’ll telephone over and find out. Meanwhile, go on with the preparations for dinner, Ellen; I still think they’re hiding in the house, the naughty little rascals.”
Greatly annoyed at the troublesome situation, Miss Larkin telephoned to Mrs. Spencer, and to one or two other neighbors, but could get no word of the children.
Then, hearing her guests coming downstairs, she returned to the drawing-room to receive them.
“I can’t understand it,” she said, as they came in; “if the children were hiding, they would appear by this time. They are not the kind to keep still very long. The cook thinks they are not in the house, but Sarah and I think they must be.”
“Jolly little scamps!” said Mr. Mortimer, rubbing his hands in glee. “When I was a child, I always loved to play practical jokes myself.”
“I didn’t,” said Mrs. Mortimer, as she seated herself stiffly on the satin sofa. “I think it very bad manners, and I’m surprised that Helen Maynard encourages such ways in her children.”
“Well, I must say it isn’t Helen’s fault,” said Miss Larkin, eager to do her friend justice; “Helen is really pretty strict with them, in her gentle way. But they are everlastingly inventing some new kind of mischief that no one ever heard of before. Like as not, they are out on the roof, or in some such crazy place.”
“The roof!” gasped Mrs. Mortimer, raising her hands in horror. “Won’t they fall off?”
“Oh, they’re not really there,” said Miss Larkin, “and they wouldn’t fall off if they were. But I don’t know exactly what to do. I can’t help feeling worried about them. Suppose they’ve all been kidnapped.”