Marjorie at Seacote

"Well, maybe she went walking with Rosamond and Nurse Nannie. She's certainly somewhere around. Run away now, King. Mrs. Corey and I are busy."

King walked slowly away.

"It's pretty queer," he said to Hester and the Craig boys; "Mops is nowhere to be found."

"Well, don't look so scared," said Tom; "she can't be kidnapped. If it was your baby sister, that would be different. But Midget has just gone off on some wild-goose chase,—or she is hiding to tease us."

"Perhaps she wrote to Kitty," suggested Hester, "and went down to the post-office to mail it."

"Not likely," said King. "She knows the postman collects at six o'clock. Well, I s'pose she is hiding somewhere, reading a book. Won't I give it to her when I catch her! For she said she'd come out here, right after her practice hour."

A dullness seemed to fall on the Sand Club members present. Not only was Marjorie their ringleader and moving spirit, but somehow King's uneasiness impressed all of them, and soon Dick Craig said, "I'm going home."

King raised no objection, and, after sitting listlessly around for a few moments, the others all went home.

But Tom turned back.

"I say," he began, "you know Mopsy is somewhere, all right."

"Of course she's somewhere, Tom, but she never did anything like this before, and I can't understand it. The only thing I can think of is, that she's gone down on the pier. But she never goes there alone."

"Well, there's lots of things she might be doing. Come on, let's go down on the pier and take a look."

The two boys walked out to the end of the pier and back again, but saw no sign of Marjorie.

On their way home, Tom turned in at his own house.

"Good-by, old chap," he said; "don't look so worried. Midget will be sitting up laughing at you when you get home."

King said good-by, and went on. He felt a strange depression of heart, as if something must have happened to Midget. He knew his mother felt no alarm, and perhaps it was foolish, but the fact remained that Midge had never acted like that before. Mr. Maynard came home at six o'clock, and Marjorie had not yet made an appearance.

He looked very much alarmed, and at sight of his anxiety, Mrs. Maynard grew worried.

"Why, Ed," she exclaimed, "you don't think there's anything wrong, do you?"

"I hope not, Helen, but it's so unusual. I can only think of the ocean. Does she ever go down and sit on the beach alone?"

"No," said King, positively; "she never does anything like that, alone. We're always together."

"And you hadn't had any quarrel, or anything?"

"Oh, no, Father; nothing of the sort. She went to practise right after luncheon, and said she'd be out in an hour."

"I heard her practising, while Mrs. Corey was here," said Mrs. Maynard, reminiscently; "but I don't remember just when she stopped."

"Well," said Mr. Maynard, "it's extraordinary, but I can't think anything's wrong with the child. You know she always has been mischievous, and I think she's playing some game on us. We may as well go to dinner."

But nobody could eat dinner. The sight of Midget's empty chair began to seem tragic, and King choked and left the table.

Mrs. Maynard burst into tears, and rose also. Her husband followed her.

"Don't worry, Helen," he urged; "she's sure to be safe and sound somewhere."

"Oh, I don't know, Ed! Such a thing as this never happened before! Oh, find her, Ed, do find her!"

King had run over to the Bryants' and now returned, accompanied by those two very much alarmed people.

"We must do something!" exclaimed Cousin Jack. "Of course something has happened to the child! She isn't one to cut up any such game on purpose. Have you looked in her room?"

"What for?" asked Mrs. Maynard, helplessly.

"Why, to see if you can discover anything unusual. I'm going up!"

Mr. Bryant flew upstairs two steps at a time, and they all followed. But nothing unusual was to be seen. The pretty room was in order, and no clothing of any sort was lying about.

Mrs. Maynard looked in the cupboard.

"Why, her blue linen is gone!" she said, "and here's the white piqué she had on at luncheon. And her blue hat is gone; she must have dressed up to go out somewhere to call, and unexpectedly stayed to dinner."

"Does she ever do that?" demanded Cousin Jack.

"She never has before," answered Mrs. Maynard, falling weakly back on Marjorie's bed. "Why, this pillow is all wet!"

They looked at each other in consternation. They saw, too, the deep imprint of a head in the dented pillow. Surely, this meant tragedy of some sort, for if the child had sobbed so hard, she must have been in deep trouble.

"We must find her!" said Cousin Jack, starting for the stairs.

CHAPTER IX

THE SEARCH

It was fortunate that the Bryants were there to take the initiative, for Mr. and Mrs. Maynard seemed incapable of action. Usually alert and energetic, they were so stunned at the thought of real disaster to Marjorie that they sat around helplessly inactive.

"Come with me, King," said Cousin Jack, going to the telephone in the library.

Then he called up every house in Seacote where Marjorie could possibly have gone, and King helped by suggesting the names of acquaintances.

But no one could give any news of the little girl; no one whom they asked had seen or heard of her that afternoon.

Cousin Jack's face grew very white, and his features were drawn, as he said: "You stay here, Ed, with Helen and Ethel; King and I will go out for a bit. Come, King."

Kingdon said nothing; he snatched up his cap and went along silently by Mr. Bryant's side, trying to keep up with his companion's long, swift strides.

To the beach they went; it was not yet quite dark, but of course they saw no sign of Marjorie.

"Are you thinking she might have been washed away by the waves?" asked King, in a quivering voice.

"That's all I can think of," replied Mr. Bryant, grimly.