old trunk to watch Libbie prowl about after Betty. A five-minute search failed to reveal her, and Libby gave up.
"All safe, you may come in!" they called in unison.
No Betty appeared, and they shouted again.
"Well, if that isn't queer!" Louise looked at Bobby in doubt. "Where do you suppose she is hiding?"
Bobby, a furrow of anxiety between her eyes searched the attic with level glances, her sisters and cousin watching her apprehensively.
"Something must have happened to her," Louise was beginning, when Bobby gave a cry and raced for the door.
"I'll bet I know where she went," she flung over her shoulder. "Haven't time—to stop—don't bother me" She flew down the stairs, the others after her at top speed.
Down, down, down, through the third, second and first floors, the four girls fled like a whirlwind, down, always following flying Bobby, to the laundry in the basement where modern electric equipment made washing clothes a scientific process.
Bobby brought up her mad flight before a tall cupboard in one corner, turning the catch on the door, opened it and out tumbled—Betty!
"Are you hurt?" demanded Bobby, helping her
