the nearer wing. Into the bushes also plunged Bates' pup, and
there ensued the sound of sundry baffled yelps. Then, after a moment,
Bates's pup emerged, one ear comically cocked, and ambled away in search
of other entertainment. Nothing else happened, and the girls resumed
their seat on the veranda steps. Presently Joyce remarked, idly:

"Does it strike you as queer, Cynthia, what could have become of
Goliath?"

"Not at all," replied Cynthia, who had no special gift of imagination.
"What _could_ have happened to him? I suppose he climbed into the
bushes."

"He couldn't have done that without being in reach of the pup," retorted
Joyce. "And he couldn't have come out either side, or we'd have seen
him. Now where can he be? I vote we go and look him up!" She had begun
with but a languid interest, seeking only to pass the time, and had
suddenly ended up with tremendous enthusiasm. That was like Joyce.

"I don't see what you want to do that for," argued Cynthia. "I don't
care what became of him as long as he got away from Bates's pup, and I'm
very comfortable right here!" Cynthia was large and fair and plump, and
inclined to be a little indolent.

"But don't you see," insisted Joyce, "that he must have hidden in some
strange place,--and one he must have known about, too, for he went
straight to it! I'm just curious to find out his 'bunk.'" Joyce was slim
and dark and elfin, full of queer pranks, sudden enthusiastic plans, and
very vivid of imagination, a curious contrast to the placid, slow-moving
Cynthia. Joyce also, as a rule, had her way in matters, and she had it
now.

"Very well!" sighed Cynthia, in slow assent. "Come on!" They wandered
down the steps, across the lawn, through the gap in the fence, and tried
to part the bushes behind which Goliath had disappeared. But they were
thick lilac bushes, grown high and rank. Joyce struggled through them,
tearing the pocket of her sweater and pulling her hair awry. Cynthia
prudently remained on the outskirts The quest did not greatly interest
her.

"There's nothing back there but the foundation of the house," she
remarked.

"You're wrong. There is!" called back Joy, excitedly, from the depths.
"Crawl around the end of the bushes, Cyn! It will be easier. I want to
show you something." There was so much suppressed mystery in Joy's voice
that Cynthia obeyed without demur, and back of the bushes found her
examining a little boarded-up window into the cellar. One board of