They rushed out there, then out to the porch, looking searchingly about everywhere, but finding nothing.
"Oh, it must have got away into the grounds," cried one. "Let's look there," and they ran down the path to the gate, off across and around the grounds—some in one direction, some in another. But it took only a few minutes to satisfy them that no little dog was there; and they trooped back to the house to report their inability to find it.
They were all talking at once, discussing their failure in eager, excited tones, when again that strange, gruff voice was heard in the hall.
"Say, youngsters, what have you done with my little dog? He's of fine stock, and if you don't hand him over right away—why, I'll know the reason why, and it won't be good fur ye, I can tell ye."
"We didn't take him," answered Don; "we've never seen him at all—no, not one of us; and if we had, we wouldn't have done him a bit of harm."
Just as Don pronounced the last word, a shrill little bark sounded out from behind Cousin Ronald's chair.
"Why, there he is now!" exclaimed Don, hurrying to the spot. "Why, no, he isn't! How does he get away so fast?"
"He seems to be an invisible dog, Don," said his brother Percy; "and, if I were you, I wouldn't let him trouble me any more."
"No; but I've set out to find him, and I don't mean to give it up," replied the little fellow.
"That's right, Don," laughed his father. "I'm pleased to see that you are not easily discouraged."