“No, he isn’t,” answered Weezy, in a discouraged tone.
“He’s screaming himself hoarse, Weezy, and we can’t find him anywhere in the house.”
“I haven’t seen him.” Weezy walked slowly toward her sister. “Has Captain Bradstreet gone, Molly?”
“Yes, Weezy, and Pauline.”
“Did Captain Bradstreet say”—
“Maybe Donald followed Pauline and her father home, Molly,” suggested Mrs. Rowe from the doorway.
“No, mamma, I’ve been over to ask. I couldn’t hear Donald on that side of the street, either. He must be in this house.”
“Then, I’d like to know where, Molly,” exclaimed Kirke, springing out upon the porch. “I’ve dived into all the wardrobes and under all the beds.”
His face was crimson, and his hair on end like the spines of a sea-urchin. A cobweb dangled from his coat-sleeve.
“Have you looked in the sideboard, Kirke?”