stairs when the
other children were playing, and went to sleep in some dark corner. Come
on, boys. Light up the house from attic to cellar, and see who will be
first to find them. It will be a game of hunt the twins, instead of hunt
the slipper."

Then up-stairs, and down-stairs, and in my lady's chamber, went a
strange procession, for nearly every one was still draped in sheet and
pillow-case. Into closets, behind screens, in all the corners, and under
all the beds they looked. Keith, remembering the sad story of Ginevra,
even lifted the lid of every chest and trunk in the linen room. Poor
little Mrs. Cassidy followed, wringing her hands, and sobbing that she
knew that they had been shut outside in the storm and the night.
Suddenly, when they had been all over the house for the third time, she
caught up a lamp, and ran out in the dark, like some poor mad creature,
calling, "Oh, Bethel! Oh, my little Ethel! Don't you hear your mother?"

By this time, the servants' quarters were aroused, and Mrs. Sherman, now
really alarmed, called for Walker and Alec to bring lanterns. The lawn
was a wreck, strewn with leaves and fallen limbs and pieces of broken
flower urns that had been overturned by the wind. The searchers stumbled
over them as they waded through the wet grass, looking in every nook and
corner where it was possible for a child to have strayed, but their
search was in vain. Never a trace did they find of the lost twins.

"Stay in the house, girls," said Mrs. Sherman, as she caught up the
trail of her wrapper, and ran out to follow the flickering lanterns and
Mrs. Cassidy's frantic cries. "It might give you your death of cold to
expose yourselves so soon after the measles."

As they stood in the door watching the wavering lights, Lloyd exclaimed,
"The puppies are gone, too. I wonder where they can be. Maybe they were
left outside in the storm when we all ran indoors in such a hurry. Maybe
the twins were playing with them."

She leaned out of the door, peering into the night. "Heah, Bob!" she
called, snapping her fingers, and whistling the shrill signal she always
gave when she fed them. There was no response from the darkness outside,
and she turned indoors repeating the whistle, and calling, "Heah, Bob!
Heah, puppy! Come to yo' miss!"

In answer there was a stir under the low Persian couch in the library,
then a whine, and an inquiring little nose was thrust through the heavy
knotted fringe that draped the lower