“Who could?”
“Why, Hobo. We can let him smell something Aunt Abigail has worn, and then if he’s any good, he ought to be able to follow the trail. I don’t see how we’re going to hunt for her, unless we try something like that.”
Peggy did not regard the suggestion in a particularly hopeful light, but at the same time she had nothing better to suggest. To continue the search for Aunt Abigail without a single clue as to the direction she had taken, was not unlike looking for the proverbial needle in the haymow. Accordingly, Peggy followed without protest, while the other girls, relieved by the mere suggestion of a definite program, hurried into the house and up the stairs to Aunt Abigail’s room. A moment later they reappeared, each bearing something selected from Aunt Abigail’s belongings.
The various articles were deposited in a circle about Hobo, as if he had been a heathen idol, and Aunt Abigail’s worsted shawl and silk work-bag, votive offerings. Hobo did not in the least understand the meaning of this new game, but he was pleased to find himself the centre of attention, and thumped his tail against the porch with a sound like persistent knocking.
“I don’t believe I’d give him this,” exclaimed Peggy, picking up the work-bag and sniffing thoughtfully. “It smells so strong of peppermint that it’s likely to mislead him.”
“She always carried peppermint drops in that bag,” said Amy. The use of the past tense was such an unconscious admission of fearing the worst, that the girls looked at one another aghast. And then Peggy, with a desperate realization that something must be done, and that immediately, seized the worsted shawl, and knelt down before Hobo. “Find her, good fellow,” she urged, holding the wrap close to the dog’s nose.
Over the fleecy mound, Hobo regarded Peggy with bright, intelligent eyes. “He’s smelling of it,” said a thrilled voice in the background.
“Yes, and he looks as if he understood,” cried another voice. “See how his eyes shine.”
Even Peggy’s doubts were vanishing before Hobo’s air of absorbed attention. “Find her, Hobo,” she insisted. “Find Aunt Abigail.”
The little group stood breathless, while Hobo descended the steps, and nose to earth, followed the winding gravelled path for half its distance. Then taking an abrupt turn, he struck off across the lawn. Their hearts in their mouths the girls hurried after. Peggy heard Priscilla just behind her, saying that it was perfectly wonderful. Priscilla had always retained a trace of her first disapproval of Hobo’s admission into the family circle, and even at that anxious moment, Peggy felt a little thrill of satisfaction over the fact that the wisdom of her charity had been vindicated.