It was growing dusk—the sunset seemed in a great hurry to get away, and day time was evidently going to the same party. The Mantons failed to induce Nora to accompany them on a “bug hunt,” Jerry’s term for Ted’s moth expedition. Vita too seemed in haste to get somewhere, and altogether the evening was especially popular to make escapes in.
Nora was going over to camp, she announced, and would be there long before dark. The girls would come home with her, she had assured the prudent Ted.
So everything was settled and the Nest would be unoccupied, with Cap as guard, for that evening.
Not a smile broke the serious look on Nora’s face. It was evident the program for the evening included something very important.
“Goodbye,” called out Ted. “Be sure to go over to camp, right away, or the dark will—catch you.”
“Yes’m,” echoed Jerry, “and Mr. Dark knows no distinctions at Wildwoods. He throws a big black blanket over the whole kaboodle.”
Nora replied, but even the joke did not cheer her. A few minutes later she stood at the foot of the attic stairs, drew a long breath; then dashed up.
Over to the chest that contained the costumes long ignored, she literally dashed, yanked up the lid and dragged out the Lord Fauntleroy outfit.
She counted the pieces, waist, jacket, knickers, sash—where was the cap?
Nervously she fumbled over the tangle of garments, but did not find it.