“If she is, you won’t let her take me, will you, Bert?”
“Of course not! Don’t be silly!”
“But she’s a kidnapper—Nan said she was.”
“Well, maybe she did kidnap Baby May and then leave her with us; but she wouldn’t take a big boy like you.”
“If she did,” declared Freddie, winding up his line, “I’d bite her and I’d kick her and I’d scratch her.”
“Well, I guess that wouldn’t be any too much for a kidnapper,” laughed Bert. “But I don’t believe we’ll see any one, Freddie.”
When the two brothers had crossed the field of clover and reached the highway, there was neither a green umbrella nor an old woman in sight—nothing but the dusty road.
“She isn’t here,” said Bert. “I didn’t think there would be anybody.”
“But I did see a green umbrella,” insisted Freddie. “Maybe if you looked in the dust you could see her feet marks like when you and the other fellows make believe trail Indians and wild game. Take a look, Bert.”
“Well, we can look, but I don’t believe we’ll find anything,” the older boy answered.