"I'm not so sure," said Kitty. "You know how Marjorie runs off if she chooses, without thinking of other people."
"I'm greatly worried, Master King," said Pompton. "I suppose I ought not to have let the child come out here alone. But she was so anxious to come, and she promised she'd stay right here by the door. I couldn't come with her, and look after the rest of you at the same time now, could I?"
"Of course you couldn't, Pompton," said Kitty. "You did quite right. And I don't believe Marjorie is very far away; I think she'll be back in a minute or two."
But they waited several minutes, and the people who had been in the circus tent all went away. The grounds about were entirely cleared, and save for a few workmen, there was no one in sight. Uncertain what to do, Pompton appealed to the doorman, who just then came out with his hands full of tickets.
"Do you know anything about a little girl, about twelve years old, who came out of the tent a short time ago?" asked Pompton.
"Naw," returned the man, curtly, paying little attention to the inquiry.
"But you must have seen her come out," said King. "She came out alone, before the performance was over. She had on a long tan-colored coat."
"Aw, that kid? Yes, I seen her, but I don't know where she went to."
"But we must find her! She's my sister!" said Kitty, and the tears came into her eyes.
The doorman looked at Pompton. "You ought to keep yer kids together, an' not let yer party get sep'rated."