"She looks as if she had never had a trouble in the world," sighed Bet, looking up at the picture.
"Laugh and the world laughs with you!" hummed Joy. "Cheer up, the worst is yet to come!"
"Keep quiet, Joy Evans. Those are about the silliest speeches a human being can make. I wish you'd go home—oh no, Joy, I don't mean that, I'm just worried."
"Of course you are, old dear. We all know it and want to help you, if we can. Come on out and have a snowball match."
It was a glorious day, sharp and sparkling and the snow crunched under their feet as they walked.
"This is the sort of weather when I long to go on a hike," said Shirley. "If it wasn't for this trouble we're having I'd suggest it."
"Let's go tomorrow anyway!" exclaimed Bet impulsively. "That is, unless something very important comes up. We're not accomplishing anything by hanging around the house and brooding."
"Right you are, Bet!" shouted Joy, as she threw a snowball at Kit. "If we take a brisk hike through the woods maybe the wind will blow the cobwebs out of our brains and we'll be able to think of some way to find that fan."
"The detective is on the job. I'm sure he'll find a clue," remarked Shirley quietly.
They returned to the house and found Uncle Nat disturbed over a visit from Amos Longworth. "Why that man was quizzing me up just as if he thought I stole the fan!"