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 to her feet. "Oh, Betty,
darling, do say you're all right! It's a wonder you weren't
suffocated or didn't break any bones.
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