me, he was not there. Then the men had taken lanterns,
and gone out to search.

No one was more distressed than Peter. "I'd ought to tooken care of
Perdita better," he would sob. "I'd ought to watched her better."

"There, there, boy," Catherine and Polly soothed him. "You did your
best, and she's home now, all safe, and won't go journeying again, ever.
She didn't like Hotspur's house, and she will stay home with Peter."

"O, Catherine," sighed Polly. "You are an only child, and you don't know
what agonies you can have over your brothers and sisters. It seems to me
ever since Peter and Perdita were born I've been worrying about one or
both of them!"

"Poor Polly!" said Catherine sympathetically. "But I don't suppose you'd
give me your share in them, would you?"

Polly caught Peter close, and hugged him till he protested and drew away
from her.

"Kiss me," she begged.

"I did," said Peter.

"Kiss me again."

"I did twice," said Peter. "I want to go to bed. Aw-ful sleepy!" and,
with a yawn that set the others to imitating him, he stumbled off toward
the stairs, in his little night clothes. Polly followed to make him
comfortable, while Mr. Osgood took Catherine home.

"You did us a great service to-night, my dear," he said, as he lifted
his hat to say good night, when she had reached her home porch. "But I
haven't learned yet how you happened to find them."

"I was out reporting for the _Courier_," she told him and then,
laughing softly at his astonished expression, explained her meaning.
"And though I did find out the news, I can't write it up," she sighed.
"I know how real journalists feel when they have to sacrifice a scoop
for reasons of delicacy."

"The _Courier_ shall not suffer!" said Mr. Osgood. "Since it was
for its sake that you went out, I'll have to see that Max gets a little
assistance. My profession doesn't advertise, but I have some influence
with one or two concerns that do, and I'll see that your next number is
full of something more profitable to the management than harrowing
accounts of midnight searches for missing babies!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE LAST PARTY

Rain.

Rain.

Rain.

"It's beastly," said Alice, with her nose pressed to the window-pane,
watching the cold drifting downpour.

"Let's go in and see if the others are awake."

So Frieda put on her heavy leather slippers, lined with figured satin
and edged with fur, and a very bunchy bathrobe, and followed Alice