Lydia was able now to make ready for bed by herself. When she was in her nightgown, she would call her mother, and Mrs. Blake would go upstairs to braid Lydia’s curls into two little pigtails, hear her evening prayers, and tuck her in bed with a good-night kiss. But this evening Lydia was putting off her bedtime as late as she could.
“I’ll just go say good-night to Father, then,” she murmured gently, slipping down from the window-seat. She meant to take at least five minutes doing this, but the telephone rang and spoiled her plan.
Mr. Blake answered it. “Hello,” said his voice from the hall. “Yes, Miss Martin. What’s that? Roger? No, he isn’t here. I’ll come up and help you.”
Mr. Blake stepped into the doorway, hat in hand.
“Miss Martin has telephoned that Roger has run away, and she thought he might possibly have found his way here. The rascal slipped out of bed, and they are pretty sure that he is not anywhere in the house. I’m going up to help her look for him. Perhaps I had better take Alexander with me, too,” he added.
“Take me, Father, oh, take me!” cried Lydia, who had been listening with open eyes and ears. “I can find Roger, I know I can. Oh, take me with you!” And she rushed forward and clasped Mr. Blake about the knees.
“Take you, little magnet,” said Mr. Blake, laughing; “I think Mother had better take you to bed.” And he was gone, leaving Lydia so wide-awake she never wanted to go to bed again, she told her mother.
“You may wait until half-past eight,” said indulgent Mrs. Blake, “if there is no news by that time you must go to bed. But after that, as soon as I hear anything, I will come and tell you, if you are awake.”
Lydia stationed herself in the window to watch. It was not much fun staring out into the black night, but anything was better than going to bed. And any moment Father might come home with news of Roger. Oh, how she wished the little clock would stop or Mother would fall asleep. But nothing happened, and at half-past eight she started upstairs, dragging one foot slowly after the other.
Ten minutes later, Lydia was downstairs again in her nightgown, brush and comb in hand.