“It’s nothing to get fidgety about. Those young ones are up to some mischief, that’s all. Our Annie’s a whole team all by herself as far as cutting up goes, and I guess your Dorothy is another of the same kind.”
“But where can they be?” faltered poor Peggy, too engrossed with that all-important question to be concerned as to the implied criticism of her small kinswoman.
“Oh, they’re about the farm somewhere, I s’pose. You needn’t worry. That Annie of ours is always getting into the awfulest scrapes, but, you see, she hasn’t been killed yet.”
With this modified comfort, Rosetta Muriel led the searching party. Peggy followed, looking rather white in spite of repeatedly assuring herself that the children were sure to be safe. Lucy Haines brought up the rear, because she could not bear to go her way till Peggy’s anxiety was relieved.
The investigation of several of Annie’s favorite haunts proved fruitless, and Rosetta Muriel began to show signs of temper. “Looks like they’ve gone down to the pond. That’s a good quarter of a mile, and I’ve got on satin slippers.” She held out an unsuitably clad foot for Peggy to admire, but Peggy was thinking of other matters than French heeled slippers. “The pond! Is it very deep?”
“No, indeed. But ma don’t like–”
Lucy Haines interrupted the explanation by a stifled cry, which from a girl so self-controlled meant more than a fit of hysterical screaming on the part of one differently constituted. Peggy whirled about.
In the adjoining pasture separated from them by a low stone wall, was a fantastic spectacle, worthy a midsummer night’s dream. Down the slope, snorting as he ran, galloped a full sized boar, his formidable tusks grotesquely emphasizing his terrified demeanor. The fairy-like figure perched on his back and holding fast by his ears, was Dorothy. And behind ran Annie, plying a switch and shouting commands intended to hasten the speed of the frightened charger.
As if she were in a dream, Peggy heard behind her the horrified whisper of Rosetta Muriel. “They’ll be killed!” gasped the girl. “Why, that boar’s dangerous!” Then her fear found voice and she screamed. At the sound Annie looked up, and halted in her tracks. Dorothy, too, lifted her eyes and straightway fell off her flying steed. And the boar, apparently uncertain as to what might happen next, lost no time in putting space between himself and his late tormentors. He turned and galloped up the slope in a frenzy of fear highly ludicrous under the circumstances. Unluckily none of the lookers-on were in a mood to appreciate the humor of the situation.
Peggy reached Dorothy about the time that the fallen equestrienne was picking herself up, her face rueful, for she realized that the hour of reckoning had come. A moment later Rosetta Muriel had pounced on Annie, and, as an indication of sisterly authority, was boxing both ears impartially.