"And the light runabout and one set of single harness is gone—I looked."
"That kid couldn't harness without help and get off this place—don't tell me!" Warren's tone was half skeptical, half alarmed.
"Sarah can do anything you don't expect her to do," declared Jack. "Take it from me, that's what she has done this time. But how are we to find out the direction she took?"
"She'd go to Bennington," said Warren quickly. "If she had gone toward Eastshore someone who knew her would have been sure to spot her; besides, she is crazy about Bennington, always teasing to go with Hugh."
Old Belle was the oldest horse on the farm, a shambling, half-blind creature whose days of work had long been over. In summer she reveled in clover pasture, and the warmest box stall and choicest oats were hers in winter. Sarah had ridden her around the pasture a number of times, but it had never occurred to anyone that she would attempt to drive her. Indeed the boys had not known that Sarah knew how to harness.
Three pairs of willing hands quickly backed "Tony," Mr. Hildreth's light driving horse, into the shafts of the buggy and, telling the anxious Winnie and Rosemary that they would have good news for them soon, they drove off toward Bennington, the county seat.
They said little, but they were more worried than they cared to admit. The highway was a state road and automobiles ran in both directions, two fairly steady streams. It was dark by now and the glare of the headlights might easily confuse an old, enfeebled horse and a little girl whose driving skill was of the slightest.
Warren drove and presently he pulled in the horse and gave the reins to Jack.
"I want to look at the road," he said, leaping lightly over the wheel and turning his pocket flash light full on the dusty macadam.