"If you please, Mrs. Paxton, your little girl isn't over to the Merlington, and hasn't been there, and a lady that was with the party that came home from the mountain trip, says the child wasn't in their barge at all. I asked her if she was _sure_, and she said, she couldn't help being sure, because there wasn't _any_ child in their barge."

Of course excitement reigned supreme. Mrs. Paxton seemed half wild, and every one shared her anxiety.

The fact that Floretta was not a favorite made no difference. No one liked to think of a little girl out there alone on the mountain path, or in the woods, especially as it was already late afternoon.

"What a dreadful thing!" cried Mrs. Paxton, wringing her hands, and walking up and down the piazza.

"Who will go with me? I cannot go alone, and where, _where_ shall we look first? Who saw her last?"

At this moment a man-servant came out from the hall with a tray of letters that he began to distribute.

"One for you, Mrs. Paxton," said the man, as he touched her arm gently.

"Oh, I can't think of letters now," she said, but something about the note seemed so unusual that she looked at it.

She drew off the string that had been loosely tied, and read the hastily scrawled lines.

She screamed, and Aunt Charlotte, who was standing near her, put her arm around her and supported her, or she would have fallen.

Many of those who gathered around Mrs. Paxton were inclined to think the note a hoax, but Mrs. Dainty, coming forward, lifted her handsome head, and looking at the men who were lounging comfortably in the large rockers, or sitting upon the piazza railing, spoke the word that spurred them to action.

"Is it safe to _guess_ that this is a joke? True, it is written in a boyish hand, and while it _may_ be a boy's joke, may it not be a boy's means of telling us what has actually happened? I would not, were I a man, take the responsibility or chance, of leaving Floretta out there, because I would go to the place, and thus learn, not guess, if this information be true."

She had scarcely finished speaking when a number of men rose, and one, who chose to lead the party, lifted his hat to Mrs. Dainty, saying:

"We are off, madam. We only needed an inspiration to move us to endeavor."

She bowed and smiled, as she said:

"One thing I ask of you. Go as quickly as possible, for the sake of the frightened child, and the anxious mother."

"In all possible haste," was the quick reply, and she turned to offer what comfort she might to the woman who seemed nearly distracted.

And all this time, what had been happening in the wood? For a long time Floretta had cried, screamed, and shouted, hoping that the boys would come back and release her.

Then, when she knew that they must be too far away to hear her, she tore at the clasping bonds, trying in every way to free herself. With feet and hands she strove to loosen the tough, wiry vines, kicking and trampling with her restless feet, beating and bending with her little hands, until they were torn and bleeding, and the tormenting vines seemed only to hold her with a firmer grasp, as if to prove how useless was her struggle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WITH FEET AND HANDS SHE STROVE TO LOOSEN THE TOUGH, WIRY VINES.--_Page 119_.]

She had cried until she could cry no more, and the st.u.r.dy vines had cut and bruised her.

So firmly was she bound that she could not sink to the gra.s.s to rest, and she had only the hard, rocky ledge to lean against.

How still the woodland seemed! Sometimes a twig would snap, or a buzzing insect would pause, as if to look at her, but no one came to set her free.

She waited for a moment to regain her breath, and then again she fought and struggled with those tough, st.u.r.dy vines.

She tried to wrench them apart, to break, to tear them from her, but they only yielded enough to bend, and then snap back into the very place that she had pushed them from.

Not a vine broke, not a stem gave way, and she set her lips tightly for yet greater effort!

CHAPTER VII

FLORETTA'S RETURN

AT a far corner of the piazza sat Dorothy, her eyes terrified, and her cheeks pale. Nancy, close beside her, wound her arms about her, and sought, in every way, to comfort her.

"They'll find her soon, Dorothy, so don't you be frightened," she whispered. "They'll _surely_ find her soon."

Dear little Nancy knew, better than any of Dorothy's other friends could have known, how ready was her sympathy, how kind and loving was her heart.

She had not loved Floretta, but with Dorothy, that did not count. It was the dreadful fear that something had happened to a little girl, who, so recently had been at play with them,--ah, that was what grieved sweet Dorothy.

She was thinking of what Mrs. Dainty had said to Aunt Charlotte when the mountain trip was first talked of.

"I think the long tramp is a rougher form of amus.e.m.e.nt than I can well endure. I should be so weary long before it was time to return, that I should derive but little pleasure from the trip. There is another thought in connection with the picnic," she continued, "and that is an element of danger. Not great danger perhaps, but such that I would not join the party, nor would I permit Dorothy, or Nancy to do so. One gentleman who was talking of the mountain path that they have chosen, spoke of the great danger to the climbers from small, rolling stones, and from places where the earth seems to crumble near the edge of the narrow foot-path. A careless step might lead to a fall that would mean, I hardly dare to say what!"

Dorothy and Nancy had been wishing to join the party, but upon hearing this, they lost all interest in it, and had cheerfully taken the drive behind gentle Romeo, instead. Now, as Dorothy sat with Nancy's arms about her, she was glad that they had not been permitted to go, and she heartily wished that Floretta had remained at the Cleverton.

"Had she rolled from the path, and fallen, fallen,--"

Dorothy covered her eyes with her hands, as if she almost saw the little girl falling, down, down to the ravine so far below the path, and was trying to shut out the picture. Nancy, still striving to quiet her fear, heard some one telling what the scribbled note had said.

"Oh, Dorothy!" she whispered, eagerly, "Floretta is just where they know how to find her, and they've promised to hurry, and bring her back."

"Are you _sure_?" Dorothy asked.

"Yes, _sure_!" said Nancy.

Then Nancy climbed into the big chair beside her, and the two little girls sat, each tightly clasping the other's hands, while they waited and watched for the first glimpse of the men who should return, bringing Floretta with them.

Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte remained with Mrs. Paxton, who seemed to have lost all control of herself.

One moment she would cry as if her heart would break, and then she would spring up, threatening to follow the direction that the men had taken, and try to reach the woods, thus to sooner see her little girl.

At last, after what seemed endless waiting, but was actually only an hour, some one espied the men in the distance, and cried out:

"They're coming! They're coming!"

"Have they got Floretta? Oh, _have_ they found her?" shrieked Mrs.

Paxton.

"We can't see from here," said the one who had spoken, and the mother rushed forward, shading her eyes with her hand, and straining to catch the first glimpse of her child.