“Maybe he lives in a tent,” Meg answered absently, trying to see across the brook to the tree where she knew Linda was sitting.
“Let’s walk down a little way,” suggested Bobby. “We’ll come right back: Jud didn’t say we couldn’t go wading. He only said to be here when he came. Maybe we’ll find the man’s house.”
Meg was willing enough, for she was no more fond of sitting still than Bobby was. Holding hands, they began cautiously to wade down stream.
The water rushed more swiftly than they actually 148 liked, but neither would say so. Instead they slipped over the stones and tried to walk as fast as the water, and presently Meg had to stop to get her breath.
“I hear a kitty crying,” she said the next minute. “Listen, Bobby––don’t you hear a cat?”
But as noises often do, as soon as Bobby listened intently, the noise stopped. He couldn’t hear a thing and said so.
“There! Now don’t you hear it?” cried Meg. “It’s a little kitty and it must be lost. Oh, Bobby, we have to find it!”
Bobby could hear the kitten mewing now and he was as eager to find it as Meg was. But how could a kitten be in the brook?
“It’s back there!” Meg said, waving her hand toward the marshy land. “Maybe, if we call it, it will come.”
And together they called, “Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!” but the little faint “Meow” sounded just the same.