thing unusual. I'm going up!"

Mr. Bryant flew upstairs two steps at a time, and they all followed. But
nothing unusual was to be seen. The pretty room was in order, and no
clothing of any sort was lying about.

Mrs. Maynard looked in the cupboard.

"Why, her blue linen is gone!" she said, "and here's the white pique she
had on at luncheon. And her blue hat is gone; she must have dressed up
to go out somewhere to call, and unexpectedly stayed to dinner."

"Does she ever do that?" demanded Cousin Jack.

"She never has before," answered Mrs. Maynard, falling weakly back on
Marjorie's bed. "Why, this pillow is all wet!"

They looked at each other in consternation. They saw, too, the deep
imprint of a head in the dented pillow. Surely, this meant tragedy of
some sort, for if the child had sobbed so hard, she must have been in
deep trouble.

"We must find her!" said Cousin Jack, starting for the stairs.

CHAPTER IX

THE SEARCH

It was fortunate that the Bryants were there to take the initiative, for
Mr. and Mrs. Maynard seemed incapable of action. Usually alert and
energetic, they were so stunned at the thought of real disaster to
Marjorie that they sat around helplessly inactive.

"Come with me, King," said Cousin Jack, going to the telephone in the
library.

Then he called up every house in Seacote where Marjorie could possibly
have gone, and King helped by suggesting the names of acquaintances.

But no one could give any news of the little girl; no one whom they
asked had seen or heard of her that afternoon.

Cousin Jack's face grew very white, and his features were drawn, as he
said: "You stay here, Ed, with Helen and Ethel; King and I will go out
for a bit. Come, King."

Kingdon said nothing; he snatched up his cap and went along silently by
Mr. Bryant's side, trying to keep up with his companion's long, swift
strides.

To the beach they went; it was not yet quite dark, but of course they
saw no sign of Marjorie.

"Are you thinking she might have been washed away by the waves?" asked
King, in a quivering voice.

"That's all I _can_ think of," replied Mr. Bryant, grimly.

"But it isn't likely, Cousin Jack. Mopsy is really a heavyweight, you
know. And there's not a very big surf on now."

"That's so, King. But where _can_ she be?" Then they went and talked
with the fishermen, and then on to the Life-saving Station.

The big, good-hearted men all knew Marjorie, and all declared she had
n