"A good deal after supper-time," murmured Nannie, anxiously. Then, glancing down a side street, she caught sight of a baker's sign. It was but a few steps, and she was very hungry, so she determined to invest her remaining cent in a piece of gingerbread. Eager to be on her homeward way she walked rapidly, and this did not suit the fancy of a large dog in a neighboring yard. He bounded toward the fence, barking furiously, and in a moment Nannie discovered that he had pushed open the gate and was upon the street. She fled at full speed away beyond the shop and down another street. At last a corner hid him from view, and he did not follow her. She dared not retrace her steps for fear of meeting him, and she abandoned all hope of a visit to the bakery. There must be other ways back to the road, though, she thought, and she wandered up one street and down another without coming to any building that looked familiar. She had lost her way entirely, and grew more and more bewildered as she wandered. The stars came out thickly in the sky, and it seemed to her that she had been traveling for hours. Finally she found herself in a quiet, unfrequented part of the town, and then the brave little heart failed utterly, and frightened, homesick, and terribly weary, she sank down by the road-side, sobbing bitterly. She did not hear the sound of wheels, nor notice the horses drawn up beside her, until some one called:
"Hello, little one! what's the matter?"
She had heard that neighborly voice too often not to recognize it now, and she sprang up in wild delight. "Oh, Captain Hoyt! Take me home! Oh, please sir, wont you take me home?"
"Home, chick-a-biddy? Why, who—little Nan Verling, I declare! Well, if it isn't lucky that I didn't sell my apples till late to-day, and am just going out! How in the world did you get there?"
"I lost my way," faltered Nannie, trying hard to conquer her tears when she was safely in the wagon. "I came to buy a bandana handkerchief for Aunt S'mantha."
"Bandana? Well, she'll need it, and a few cambric ones thrown in, if she don't know where you are at this time of night," declared the captain, whipping up his horses.
He was quite right; Miss Samantha was nearly frantic. She had sent to every house in the village, and had learned from Tommy how her love of neatness and carelessly expressed desire for bananas had together worked mischief. But as a visit to the store revealed the fact that Nannie had been there and had gone, Miss Samantha could think of nothing but that most improbable resort,—the pond; and she had gathered a party with ropes and lanterns, when Captain Hoyt drove up and deposited the small maiden in their midst.
"I've got the handkerchief, Aunt S'mantha! and I'm so glad; but my clothes are all spoiled, and I'm so sorry," began Nannie.
"Clothes, child! Do you think I care so much more for your clothes than for you that I want to hear about them first?" exclaimed Miss Samantha, with an embrace so long and close that Nannie was quite astonished.
"I didn't know," she answered.