just to prove that the first visitor had
been no mere plantation hand; the stealing of a baby was more like
the work of the native blacks.

Nesta wrung her hands and wept. Eustace dashed away to fetch
Robertson. Mary lost her head completely, and nobody thought of
trying to restore poor Mrs. Orban to consciousness till motherly
little Mrs. Robertson appeared on the scene.

Robertson stood in the middle of the room looking the picture of
bewilderment.

"This beats everything," he said in an awed voice.

Every one was really too terrified to make a noise. Puzzled glances
were exchanged, questions whispered, and Robertson said again,--

"This beats everything! It doesn't seem possible, unless she has
been spirited away; for how could any one pass me on those steps
without my seeing them?"

"Could he have swarmed one of the posts?" Eustace asked.

"I shouldn't say he could," Robertson replied, "but it looks as if
he did. How could a man swarm a post with a sleeping child in his
arms?"

"Black-fellows are dreadfully clever," said Kate.

"Hush," said Mrs. Robertson, "the poor lady is coming to herself.
Don't let her hear you talking like that. Oh dear, how will she
bear it?"

The poor woman's eyes were full of tears. She knew well enough what
a mother's feelings would be under such awful circumstances.

"Every corner of the house was searched," said Robertson
meditatively.

"We didn't look under the beds," said Nesta.

"Silly," said Eustace. "As if a black-fellow would have stopped to
be looked for under a bed."

"Yes--that's no go," said Robertson; and just at that moment there
came such a strange sound from under the very bed they were
standing by that every one jumped--a sound that brought Mrs. Orban
back to her senses far quicker than any of good Mrs. Robertson's
restoratives, for it was the voice of Becky herself.

"Good gracious!" exclaimed all the women, after the first shock of
surprise was over.

"My patience," said Robertson, and down they all went on their
hands and knees like a party of kangaroos, peering under the bed.

There lay Becky, rosy with sleep, safe and sound, with puckered
face and plaintive voice, evidently wondering what all the fuss was
about.

They hauled her from under the bed, and placed her on her mother's
knee, where she sat blinking at the light like a young owl.

"Why," said Nesta, "she must have tumbled out of bed in her sleep,
and rolled over underneath."

"So s