“Oh, that is so,” admitted Dorothy. Then she suddenly screamed: “Tavia Travers! where are the ponies?”
“Dorothy!” shrieked Tavia, in return. “They’ve gone.”
“Goodness!” said Dorothy Dale. “Have they run away—or been stolen?”
“It’s plain to be seen they are not to be seen,” said Tavia. “It’s—it’s dreadfully unfortunate, Doro.”
“And we can’t walk home!” wailed Dorothy.
“All right, Miss. We’ll fly.”
“We’ll find the ponies,” declared the practical Dorothy, recovering to a degree from her panic. “Come on.”
But the two girls from the East were not familiar with the wilds. As for trailing horses through the woods, they did not know one single thing about that business. They could not even find the spot where the ponies had been tied, side by side.
“My goodness me, Doro,” asked Tavia, at length, “whatever shall we do? The ponies are lost. What will your Aunt Winnie say to that?”
“I guess she won’t trouble much about the loss of the ponies—and I’m not going to,” declared Dorothy. “But we don’t want to get lost.”