"Mrs. Dane's, perhaps," suggested Kittie.
This was plausible.
"But what would she go for?" asked Bea in a moment. "And without any hat or shawl, and stay so late?"
Nobody knew, and all looked irresolute and anxious.
"Her blue shawl is gone," exclaimed Kat, in the midst of her second rummage in the closet; for what, no one knew, since it was impossible for Ernestine to be hanging over a hook; or settled in one of her pockets. "And her straw hat!"
At that, all five dived into the closet, with no clearly defined purpose, but it seemed the only thing to do just then; and in the scramble that followed, the missing straw hat was found on the floor, but no blue shawl kept its company. They all took hold of it in turn, looking at it solemnly, and turning it over and over, as though it possessed the secret of its missing mistress. But if it knew, it kept its knowledge, and only flapped its ribbons in feeble protest at being twisted about so. No one said any thing, until Bea discovered two long golden hairs clinging to the straw, then she threw it down, and burst into tears. Everybody looked aghast, and Bea cried out between her sobs:
"I can't help it—indeed—I feel as if something dreadful had happened—and I'm so frightened."
Just then the clock struck ten, such slow solemn strokes, echoing through the still house, and everybody shivered drearily, and looked fearfully out into the dark hall; wishing, oh, how fervently, that mother was home. Bea stopped crying with a great effort, and seemed to feel that she must do something—but what? She looked at the girls in anxious inquiry. Kittie and Kat were sitting on the bed, trembling and frightened. Olive was so dreadfully pale and still; and Beatrice was nearly at her wits end.
"Perhaps—perhaps—" ventured Kittie, looking around as though her voice frightened her: "she may be trying to frighten us; you know we were a little fussy when she came up stairs this afternoon."
Nobody seemed to think so, it might be a rather good joke, but Ernestine wouldn't keep it up until ten o'clock.