“I left it in the lock. I know I left it in the lock,” exclaimed Mrs. Rowe, groping hastily about the carpet. “Help me, children, do help me find it!”
“Tum, mamma. Why don’t oo tum?”
The voice was very low, oh, very, very low, little more than a sigh.
“Yes, yes, my baby; mamma will come.”
Mrs. Rowe was yet hunting the key, and hunting to no purpose.
“Bring a hammer, Kirke,” she cried hurriedly. “Bring a screw-driver—no, a chisel. Call Hop Kee.”
It seemed centuries before Kirke returned with the tools; in reality it was only three minutes. Then Hop Kee came flying in as though fired from a sling or swung by his own long pigtail. Behind him appeared Captain Bradstreet and Pauline to learn if Donald had been found; and among them all the trunk was speedily opened.
Little Donald lay upon the pillows gasping for breath, and clasping in his chubby hand the missing key.
“Peepaboo, Donny! Peepaboo!” cried Weezy.
But the released prisoner did not answer. Mrs. Rowe caught the pale, limp little fellow to her breast with a sob of thanksgiving.