was left for little Lucy, flower-crowned and
calmly sweet and gentle under honors, to be guilty of a tragedy of which
she never dreamed. For that was the day when little Lucy was lost.

When the picnic was over, when the children were climbing into the
straw-wagon and Madame and Miss Acton were genteelly disposed in the
victoria, a lamentable cry arose. Sam drew his reins tight and rolled
his inquiring eyes around; Madame and Miss Acton leaned far out on
either side of the victoria.

"Oh, what is it?" said Madame. "My dear Miss Acton, do pray get out and
see what the trouble is. I begin to feel a little faint."

In fact, Madame got her cut-glass smelling-bottle out of her bag and
began to sniff vigorously. Sam gazed backward and paid no attention to
her. Madame always felt faint when anything unexpected occurred, and
smelled at the pretty bottle, but she never fainted.

Miss Acton got out, lifting her nice skirts clear of the dusty wheel,
and she scuttled back to the uproarious straw-wagon, showing her slender
ankles and trimly shod feet. Miss Acton was a very wiry, dainty woman,
full of nervous energy. When she reached the straw-wagon Miss Parmalee
was climbing out, assisted by the driver. Miss Parmalee was very pale
and visibly tremulous. The children were all shrieking in dissonance,
so it was quite impossible to tell what the burden of their tale of woe
was; but obviously something of a tragic nature had happened.

"What is the matter?" asked Miss Acton, teetering like a humming-bird
with excitement.

"Little Lucy--" gasped Miss Parmalee.

"What about her?"

"She isn't here."

"Where is she?"

"We don't know. We just missed her."

Then the cry of the children for little Lucy Rose, although sadly
wrangled, became intelligible. Madame came, holding up her silk skirt
and sniffing at her smelling-bottle, and everybody asked questions
of everybody else, and nobody knew any satisfactory answers. Johnny
Trumbull was confident that he was the last one to see little Lucy, and
so were Lily Jennings and Amelia Wheeler, and so were Jim Patterson and
Bubby Harvey and Arnold Carruth and Lee Westminster and many others; but
when pinned down to the actual moment everybody disagreed, and only one
thing was certain--little Lucy Rose was missing.

"What shall I say to her father?" moaned Madame.

"Of course, we shall find her before we say anything," returned Miss
Parmalee, who was sure to rise to an emergency. Madame