“Oh, are you sure?” burst from Mrs. Morrow, her eyes eager with hope as she bent over the little scarlet knot.
“Indeed I am sure,” answered the delighted girl, “for it is the very ribbon I found in my work basket and tied on Rosy’s funny little topknot the day she was at our house. See, here is the very cut in the edge—that is the reason it was of no use to me—but Rosy was as happy as a lark over it. Oh, isn’t this too lovely, for now I know the child is somewhere near!”
With renewed hope they set forth again on the hunt, Nathalie running ahead and calling “Tru-al-lee!” as loud as she could—it was the only bird call she knew—to get in touch with the advance guard and tell them the good news.
In answer to her Blue Robin call, in a few moments a Bob White whistle was heard, rather faint, but there was no mistake as to that quick, clear note. The Sport, a few yards behind, immediately responded by giving a similar call, and then as they stood waiting to ascertain from what direction the whistle had come, there sounded a sudden, sharp snap of the underbrush near, and Kitty Corwin’s face emerged into view. “Hurrah, girls!” she shouted jubilantly, “we have found her!”
“Oh, where? Where?” came in an instant from three throats as Kitty leaned against a tree and panted.
“Down in a ravine, huddled close against a rock, asleep. Helen did not want to waken her until Nathalie came, for fear she would be frightened at the strange faces. Come on, quick!” she exclaimed excitedly, turning and darting back the way she had come with light, fleet steps.
But the belated ones needed no urging, especially Nathalie, who dashed ahead without regard to time or place, with a haste that left no doubt as to her joy that her searching party had been a success. Overhanging branches and dried twigs that blocked her way were ruthlessly brushed aside, or run against, scratching and bruising her unmercifully as she discovered later, but it made no difference to the happy girl.
It seemed but a moment when she emerged into a clearing, and close at the heels of Kitty climbed down into a small ravine. It had evidently been at one time the road-bed of a brook, but was now filled with scraggy stones, dried underbrush, and fallen logs.
As Nathalie saw the little motionless figure cuddled in a heap against the rock, her heart leaped with misgiving. “Oh, is she dead?” she asked Helen, who stood guard by the side of the rock, every now and then brushing away a gnat or a fly that descended with a loud buzz on the smeared black face, which lay partly exposed to view as it rested on a mite of an arm.
“Oh, no,” assured Helen, “she is all right, only asleep. I suppose she wandered about for some time in the darkness and was tired out, poor little tot!”