So the very next morning, dimply with the delight of it, she took the car and drove gleefully out to the lovely hickory grove, and ran the car deliberately up beside the road, and waited. No Mr. Wizard gloomed on the horizon. Not even a Corduroy Crab came crashing through the fallen leaves which blanketed the ground around her. So she got out of the car, climbed through the fence, and sauntered comfortably along by the creek, under the big bare trees. Still no angry keeper dashed out upon her. She took small pebbles and tossed them into the trees to see the squirrels go scampering—nobody minded in the least. It was very annoying—like everything else connected with that Curious Cat.
She was very near the Haunted House now, so near she could not go any farther. Even a wilful and deliberate trespasser could not walk right into the very doors of an irate proprietor.
She was quite vexed. Why did he claim to be a wizard, and boast of fairy powers, if he could not see there was a damsel out in search of him? She turned and walked briskly back down the creek toward the road. Putting her hands on the top rail of the low fence, she vaulted lightly over, and cried out in surprise and fear.—The car was gone.
She had left it there, not fifteen minutes ago. She could not be dreaming—there were the broad smooth tracks in the dust. Some one had stolen the dear, darling little car.
"Now every one will say I should have chosen the cow," she thought bitterly.
Doris was several miles from home, and it was breakfast time. They would know that she was out for her silly morning walk—and when father found the car gone it would be apparent she had gone for a drive instead. Oh, dear—it was a long way, and very hot, and dusty—and she was so unhappy. And it was only natural to blame it all on that perfectly disgusting Curious Cat, who should have been there, and was not.
Because she was angry, the first mile passed quickly. But neither anger nor grief shortened the second mile, nor the third, nor the fourth. Then she got a ride with a friendly farmer, who openly marveled at her being in the country so early in the morning. But Doris was not communicative. They were preachers, of course, but if they wanted to be in the country, they could be—and the whole neighborhood did not need to know the wherefore. At eight o'clock she marched grimly into the manse, and found the family at breakfast.
"Oh, you runaway," laughed Rosalie. "I had a terrible time getting breakfast. Aren't you a good housekeeper—not a bit of flour in the house and the cream sour."
"Give me coffee," said Doris, sitting down wearily and resting her elbows on the table. "Black coffee, strong coffee, lots of it, no sugar and no cream."