While the young people feasted inside the cabin, the men who were to conduct the hunt prepared the pine torches to light them on their way.
“You feel sure this is a proper expedition, Mr. Latham?” asked Aunt Sallie nervously. She was standing at the door, waiting to see the party start off. “Hugh,” she called at the last minute, “promise me to look after Ruth and Grace. Don’t get separated from them, or I shall never forgive you. Ralph, I trust you to take care of Mollie and Bab.”
But Reginald Latham was standing near Miss Stuart and overheard her instructions to the two boys.
“Oh, I say, Miss Stuart,” he quizzed in the affected fashion that so angered Mollie, “can’t you trust me to look after Miss Thurston? I have a score to pay back to her for her rescue of me in my airship.”
Mollie put her arm in Ralph’s as they walked out the door together. “Don’t mind that Latham man,” she whispered. “I can’t see why Bab likes him. See, they are starting off together.”
The great horn blew; the dogs barked violently.
Twenty people, each carrying a pine torch, lit up the shadows of the quiet woods.
“When I count three,” said Mr. Latham to the keepers, “you can let the dogs go.”
One! two! three! and the hounds were off, their noses pointed along the ground, their tails standing out straight behind them.
“Is coon hunting a cruel sport, Ralph?” Mollie inquired. “If it is, I would rather stay home.”