"Er-nes-tin-e-e, cakes are getting cold," with an amount of energy and noise that might have reached that young lady, had she been sitting on the top-most round of the farthest chimney; but there was no response of any kind, neither was there any indications of a light up stairs, so Kat went back, remarking, as she again fell to work:
"She's put on her new toggery, most likely, and gone somewhere."
"But where should she go?" asked Bea with a strange uneasiness.
"Anywhere, just so people see her new things, and say how pretty she looks," answered Kat, who was not uneasy.
So they eat supper and waited; but no appearance of the delinquent. The twins began to clear up, putting a good supply in the oven to keep warm; but the dishes were through with, and all put away, and no Ernestine. Kittie began to feel anxious and worried, but Kat made fun of her, though she herself began to grow more quiet, as the evening went on. Eight. Nine. No Ernestine. What should they do?
Bea sprang up from her seat at the window, all in a pale tremor.
"I cannot stand it. Oh, Olive, what shall we do?"
"Why, I don't know," said Olive, putting down the book in which she had read nothing. "Have you looked for her hat and cloak?"
No. No one had. So they all rushed up stairs, as though it required five pairs of eyes to discover a hat and cloak, which was found lying on the bed, just as she had thrown them on coming up stairs. Bea went to her boxes, with a vague idea that the gloves and feather were in some way connected with the mystery; but they were put away with greatest possible care, and Kat, who always did the absurd things in hasty moments, reported that all her clothes and dresses were in their places, so she couldn't have gone away.
"Of course not; there's no place for her to go to," answered Olive.