THEY started forth, Alice with an ever-growing sickness, for there is hardly anything worse for a mother than those black moments when for a while she does not know where her children are. She ran into Tom, and the calmness with which he took Sara's disappearance did not tranquilize her. One cannot reason with mothers about things like this: they would rather have the father of their children as panic-stricken as they are themselves.
At last, far off down the street, under an electric light, Alice saw the flutter of a white dress. It was accompanied by the ample outline of Grandma. Alice quickened her pace to a run, and Tom followed her with irritating requests for her to be calm, and still more irritating assertions that he had known all the time that Sara was all right.
Alice threw her arms about Sara and crushed her to her breast as though she had been lost for weeks.
"Where did you find her?" she asked her Mother-in-law.
"Where indeed?" said Grandma. "Where but in my own house, and doing what? Some instinct told me, Alice, that I should find that child at my house. I can't tell you why. And I came there just in time to find her burning up my new switch which, it seems, she had learned about when she was snooping around acquiring those three gray hairs she burned. Of course, you can't punish her to-day."
Sara was no longer crying. Her eyes were swollen
