“Don’t suppose they are playing ’possum, do you?”
“Oh, Neale—never!”
“But there’s no place for them to go. You can see all over this pasture. Here, Tom Jonah! Find them! Find Tess and Dot!”
“We can’t see behind all the clumps of bushes,” suggested Agnes.
“But, cricky! are they asleep behind the bushes somewhere?” Neale demanded.
“No-o. Not likely,” Agnes admitted.
“But—here!” shouted Neale. “What’s this?”
He had found the place where Tess, frightened, as was Dot, by the cow, had stood up and dropped her great bunch of picked flowers. “What do you know about that?” the boy asked, quite seriously.
“Oh, Neale! Their flowers. They would never have thrown them away unless something had happened.”
“But what?”