For the first time since reaching the attic their thoughts turned to Barbara Thurston. But where was she? Nowhere in sight. Mr. Presby came limping into the room, followed by his wife very much out of breath.
"Wha—wha—what is the cause of all this uproar?" demanded Mr. Presby testily.
"It's Bab! It's Bab, I tell you," almost screamed Ruth. "Oh, what has happened?"
"That's what we would like to know," retorted Mr. Presby.
"Where is Bab?" demanded Tom, who had been nosing around the room like a terrier.
"She—she's gone," moaned Ruth. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fright. Tom rushed to the windows, which were tightly closed.
"What fell?" he questioned sharply, halting in front of Ruth.
"I—I don't know. I—I wasn't here. I was at the foot of the garret stairs when I heard that terrible crash."
The dust, slowly settling, gave them a clearer view of the attic. Barbara Thurston was not in sight.
"What has become of Bab? Why don't you look behind the chests?" demanded Mollie, gathering up her skirts, darting here and there, kicking aside the heaps of old clothing that had been turned out on the floor.