The Story of the Big Front Door Part 28

And where was Louise?

While she and John were playing checkers she overheard Mr. Armstrong talking to his wife about a book which he evidently was very anxious to have, and which he seemed unable to find either at the library or the bookstores.

At the first mention of the t.i.tle Louise was sure she had seen it on their own library table at home, and remembered hearing her father and uncle discuss it. "I know father will lend it to him," she thought, and was about to say so to Mr. Armstrong, when she recollected that Uncle William had borrowed it.

"I am sure he has finished it," she thought, "and at any rate he has gone to Chicago. I'll go home and ask Aunt Zelie to let me get it."

Eager to do this kindness, she ran off as soon as the game was finished.

But everybody was out. James was at work in the cellar; Mandy so occupied with her pantry shelves that she did not know when Louise pa.s.sed through the kitchen; Sukey had taken Helen and Carie for a walk, and Aunt Zelie was at a lecture. What should she do?

She went up to the star chamber, hoping to find Carl and coax him to go with her, but he was not there. She wanted very much to get that book for Mr. Armstrong. He wished to make use of it in a lecture he expected to give on Monday night, so it was important that he should have it as soon as possible. She knew the way to Uncle William's perfectly, but she and Bess never went so far by themselves.

"I can go all the way on the cars," she said to herself. "Nothing could happen to me, and I can't ask Aunt Zelie when she isn't here."

Trying to satisfy her conscience in this way, she found her pocket-book and started out. It happened that she saw n.o.body she knew as she waited on the corner for the car, feeling very independent.

The afternoon was cold and cloudy, and the ride seemed longer than usual.

"I wish I had asked Dora to come with me," she thought; "I shall have to hurry to get hack before dark."

"I want to go to the library just a minute, Bruce," she said to the man who opened the door.

He looked somewhat surprised to see her alone, but made no comment, only replying, "I am afraid it is rather cold there; we are having the furnace cleaned to-day."

"I only want to get a book. I'm not going to stay. And you needn't wait, Bruce. I can let myself out," she said.

The library was at the end of the hall, almost opposite the front door, but somewhat cut off from the rest of the house, as it communicated with no other room.

As Louise entered she pushed the door to behind her. Yes, there was the volume she wanted on the table. Taking it up and turning to go, her eyes fell on the corner where Uncle William kept his story books--books intended for his young guests, which he very much enjoyed reading himself sometimes, and to which he was constantly adding. As there seemed to be some new ones, Louise sat down to examine them, and before she knew it became absorbed. When at length she looked up it was beginning to grow dark.

"Dear me! what will Aunt Zelie say? I must hurry," she exclaimed, and running to the door she stopped in bewilderment, for there wasn't any k.n.o.b, and yet it was securely latched. She was very much puzzled. For a few minutes it seemed rather funny to be fastened up in Uncle William's library, but when all her attempts to open the door failed it did not seem so much like a joke. She tried pounding on it, but any noise such small hands might make could not be heard twenty feet away.

Louise soon realized this; the servants she knew were on the other side of the house and might not come near the library till the next day. She thought of the windows, and tried them one after another, standing on tiptoe on the sill, but she could not move the fastenings.

The one that faced the street was too far back for any possibility of attracting the attention of pa.s.sers-by.

"What shall I do? They won't know what has become of me," she said.

She wondered if Bruce would not come to turn on the light in the hall, only to be disappointed again, for when she peeped through the keyhole it was already burning. Again and again she tried to move the latch with a pen-knife, and then with a paper-cutter, but without success.

Then she sat down to think. There was nothing to do but wait. She was a brave little person, but as she saw how dark it was growing and thought of home with all its light and cheer she could not keep the tears out of her eyes.

How foolish she had been, and naughty, too! What right had she to the book? She ought to have asked her father's permission before she thought of going for it. This was all quite clear now.

The room was cold, and outside the wind whistled about the house. The snow had begun to fall so thickly that when she went to the window she could not see the street. It was some comfort to turn on the electric light, but it did not keep her from being cold and tired and hungry.

The clock said a quarter past six; in a few minutes more they would be eating dinner at home. Somebody _must_ come; she couldn't stay there all night.

She went to the door again and called "Bruce! Bruce!" till she was tired. Slowly the hands of the clock moved on: seven; half-past; eight. Her excited imagination began to bring to her mind all the stories of burglars she had ever heard. Suppose some one should come to rob the house, knowing the family were away! She was afraid to take her eyes off the door, and much as she longed for release she almost dreaded to see it open. She sat on the floor, pulling a great bear-skin rug over her, and by and by she fell asleep with her head on a chair. Then she dreamed that she was out in a sleigh in a furious snow-storm. Carl was with her and Bruce was driving, and they were chased by wolves. (This was probably suggested by the story she had been reading, which was one of Russian adventure.) The wolves gained upon them, though they seemed to be going like the wind; she felt their hot breath on her face as they climbed over the back of the sleigh. Just as she was being dragged out she thought Carl cried, "There goes Louise!" Then she opened her eyes to find herself on the library floor, with Mr. Caruth and Bruce standing over her, and Dan, the big mastiff, trying to lick her face. The clock on the mantel said half-past ten.

About half an hour earlier Mr. Caruth, going home on a street-car, met an acquaintance who remarked that he had just seen Mr. Hazeltine, who was much worried over the disappearance of his little girl. His informer did not know which of the children it was, or any particulars, and after riding another block Mr. Caruth rang the bell and got off, intending to go hack to the Hazeltines and learn the truth of the matter.

On his way to take the down-town car he pa.s.sed Mr. William Hazeltine's house. He noticed that only a dim light burned in the hall, and recalled the fact that they were out of town, but happening to glance in the direction of the library he was surprised to see it brilliantly illuminated. Hesitating for a moment, he turned and went up the steps.

"I'll take occasion to ask Bruce if he knows anything about one of the children getting lost," he said to himself.

After some minutes the door was opened by the sleepy-looking man, who was not disposed to be quite amiable. In reply to Mr. Caruth's question he said he knew nothing about it.

"Well, see here, Bruce, what does that light in the library mean? Mr.

and Mrs. Hazeltine are both away, aren't they?"

The man looked at him in surprise, and said there wasn't any light in the library.

"Just come out here, then, and tell me what you call this," and Mr.

Caruth led the way to the corner of the house.

"I haven't been near the library since morning, sir," the astonished man exclaimed.

"How about the other servants?"

"They are all away but the cook, and she went to bed an hour ago.

There was a man here attending to some locks, but he left about noon."

"It can't be burglars, for they wouldn't leave the blinds open. We must look into this," said Mr. Caruth, as they entered the house.

The dog had followed Bruce to the door, and under his protection they entered the library.

A more unexpected sight could hardly have met their gaze--Louise fast asleep on the floor, with the bear-skin partly covering her!

Dan's cold nose aroused her, and she started up with wide-open, bewildered eyes.

"Don't be frightened, it is only Dan," said Mr. Caruth, lifting her into a chair. "Get wide awake and then tell us why you are spending the night here. I am afraid from what I hear that they are worried about you at home."

"I'm awake now and I must go. You will take me, won't you?" said Louise, rising and pus.h.i.+ng back her hair, and looking about for her hat. "I did not mean to stay here," she added, "but I couldn't get out--there isn't any k.n.o.b on the door."

Bruce, who had been standing open-mouthed, turned at this to examine the door, and sure enough there was a k.n.o.b on the outside, but not on the inside. He could not explain why it had been left so; he only knew that the man who came to make some change in the door-k.n.o.bs had said that something was wrong and he could not finish the work till the next day.

A long ring at the h.e.l.l startled Mrs. Howard, and aroused Bess from a troubled doze on the sofa. They ran into the hall just as Joanna, who was on the watch, opened the door with a scream of delight.

"Louise! Louise! Where have you been? Where did you find her, Mr.

Caruth?" Bess laughed and cried at the same time, and Aunt Zelie was almost as bad. Louise was hugged and kissed and asked the same questions over and over again, because it was impossible to take in anything more than the glad fact that she was found.

In the midst of it Carl rushed in, exclaiming, "We can't find a trace of her, and Roberts says--"

"The next time you want a detective you'd better employ me," remarked Mr. Caruth calmly.

CHAPTER XVIII.

SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENS.

Louise's adventure resulted in a cold that came near being pneumonia, and kept her housed for more than a week. As she paid so dearly for her thoughtlessness, no one had the heart to scold her; indeed, she received an unusual amount of petting.