Meanwhile Uncle Justus had returned and was told by Ellen that Edna had arrived.

A pleased look came into Professor Horner’s face. “Send her to me, Ellen,” he said, and Ellen hastened up stairs to do his bidding. Failing to find the child in her room, she hunted high and low, but no Edna, and she returned to Professor Horner in perplexity.

“Shure, sor, I’ve looked the house over, an’ the choild is nowhere at all, at all,” she informed him.

Uncle Justus looked annoyed. “Some one should have been here when she came,” he said to himself. “Perhaps she went to the candy shop to spend some pennies; no doubt that is it. She will be here in a few moments;” and he settled himself comfortably.

But the time passed and Edna did not appear. Professor Horner walked the floor thoughtfully, then putting on his hat and coat he went out, first to the candy shop, where nothing was learned of Edna, then to the different houses in the neighborhood in which the little girl’s schoolmates might be found, but no one had seen the child, and Uncle Justus returned home to find that his wife had arrived.

She, too, looked anxious as her husband appeared with no little niece. “Edna is an obedient child,” she said, “and she is not prone to get into serious mischief, but

“That is why I am the more anxious,” replied Uncle Justus.

“I was about to say that this influence, under which she has been, may have spoiled her,” continued Aunt Elizabeth, remembering that it was at her husband’s suggestion that the visit to the country was made.

Uncle Justus frowned. “That is not likely; and if it were, what has it to do with the case?”

“She may have taken a fancy to go back there.”

Uncle Justus caught at the suggestion. He rose to his feet.

“Where are you going?” asked Mrs. Horner. “I am going to see if she has gone back;” and he was soon on his way to Mr. Evans’ office. That gentleman insisted on making the journey with the perturbed professor, and the two set out together But on arriving they found only the family, and the situation grew more and more perplexing. “I am sure Edna is too conscientious to start back here without leave,” said Mrs. Evans. “She talked very cheerfully of her return.”

“I am so afraid she is run over by a trolley car,” said Agnes, in distress.

“Or maybe she is lost and will be out in the dark night all alone,” wept Dorothy. “O, papa, do try and find her.” And the two men returned to the city together.

No news at police stations of a lost or injured child, and to the railway depots as a last resource they betook themselves. As Uncle Justus was making his inquiries some one stood by listening. It was one of the colored porters.

“’Scuse me, sah,” he said, “but I b’leeves I seen de little lady you all’s inquirn’ fo’. I ’members her on account of de ’casion of a accident when she was on boa’d our train along o’ her pa. I reckleck she went to de telegraph office dis afternoon. I were gwine to call myse’f to her remembers, but she slip out whilst I were busy, sah.”

Yes, the man at the telegraph office did remember her. “A little girl,” he said, “yes, sir, wore a plain frock and a big hat. Yes, she came here and got us to send a message.”

“What was it?” asked Uncle Justus, eagerly. The man smiled. “As near as I can recollect, it was, ‘Louis has runned away.’ It was sent to Mr. William Morrison, Pasadena, California.”

Uncle Justus looked puzzled. “I cannot understand why the message was sent,” he said, and after some further questions he concluded to return home.

Meanwhile how fared it with Edna? At the instant that she fell upon the stone step, in her flight from the cattle, the door opened and she was lifted to her feet by a pleasant-looking boy, who, followed by another, came out of the house.

“Why, little girl,” said the boy who gave her his help, “you’ve cut your lip; it is all bleeding. Did you fall down? That is too bad.” And he began tenderly to wipe off the stains of blood. “Come in and let mother wash it off,” he continued. “You call mother, Steve,” he said to the other boy, and Edna was drawn into the house whether or no.

Some one came swiftly down the hall. “What is the matter, Roger?” a voice asked. “Why, I know this little girl. I have wondered for a long time if I should see her again. It is little Edna Conway;” and, looking up, Edna recognized her kind travelling companion, Mrs. Porter.

“And you never came to see me,” continued the lady, reproachfully. “I had quite given you up, but ‘better late than never,’ and now that I have you I mean to have a good long visit to make up for your not coming before.”

“I couldn’t come before,” replied Edna; “my aunt doesn’t allow me to visit.” She looked up wistfully, not liking to explain that this appearance of herself was purely accidental. “But I’m very, very glad to see you,” she added.

Mrs. Porter was busy washing off the stain. “It isn’t very much of a cut,” she said. “I do not think it will trouble you much.”

“I was so afraid of the cows,” replied Edna, “and I ran up the steps as hard as I could scramble out of the way.”

“They are rather terrifying, I admit. How came your aunt to allow you away down here alone, when she is so particular?” asked Mrs. Porter.

Edna was silent, and stood with downcast eyes. Then she looked up, saying, candidly, “My aunt didn’t have anything to say about it. I had to come. I had to, indeed I did, but I’d rather not tell why.”

Mrs. Porter looked down into the clear eyes, but they answered her look too innocently for her to suspect any wrong motive. So she smiled and kissed her little visitor. “Never mind, then,” she replied. “Now you are here you must stay and take tea with us. I want you to know my boys. You look rather pale. Have you been sick?”

“I’ve had the measles. But I must go home, Mrs. Porter. They will be worried about me.”

“No, they won’t. I will send Steve with a note right away. I will tell your aunt that you tumbled up my steps, and that I am going to keep you a while. I will make it all right.”

And this was done forthwith. There was no resisting Mrs. Porter, but yet Edna had a little uneasy feeling at heart that it was not just right for her to remain, although she felt tired and her head ached.

Stephen was dispatched with the note, and soon returned, saying he had delivered it safely into Ellen’s hands. And the two boys proceeded to amuse their little visitor with as much gallantry as possible. Roger brought out his Punch and Judy figures. Stephen displayed his electric motor and his gold-fish; therefore the afternoon passed very quickly, and Edna forgot her fright and her troubles in all the new and interesting games the boys had to show.

“I wish we had a little sister,” said Roger.

“And I wish my two brothers were here,” returned Edna.

“We’ll be your two brothers while you are here,” said Stephen.

Edna laughed. “Then I’ll have to call you Frank and Charlie,” and she proceeded to decide which should be which, and to tell the boys of her brothers’ pranks and funny sayings.

This was after tea, when the three were having a fine time over a game of “Parchesi,” sitting around a big table.

Presently the bell rang; there were voices in the hall questions and answers and Mrs. Porter was summoned; then, in another minute, in walked Uncle Justus.

A look at his face told Edna something of his anxiety; but he held out his hand, and she went straight to him, where he kept her close, as if he could not let her go.

“We thought you were lost,” he said, in trembling tones; “I have been looking for you since early in the day.”

“O,” cried Edna, “Uncle Justus, I am so sorry.”

“Didn’t Mrs. Horner get my note?” asked Mrs. Porter.

“That she didn’t receive it made the trouble,” replied Uncle Justus. “The maid took the note and put it on the hall table, where it was not discovered until an hour ago, Ellen having forgotten it and not connecting it with Edna. In the meantime I have been searching everywhere.”

“It is my fault,” cried Mrs. Porter; “I should not have kept Edna this time, but I was so glad to see her, and she had hurt herself; besides, she looked so pale and tired.”

“Where were you going when you started down town?” asked Uncle Justus.

“O,” Edna said, “Uncle Justus, I felt so dreadfully about Louis. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Well, my child, I don’t understand why you should; but we had better go straight home now, and relieve the minds of your friends.”

Edna did not talk much on the way home, but she held Uncle Justus’ hand very tightly. “Was I very bad?” once she asked, softly.

Uncle Justus, for answer, gave her hand a little squeeze, and she was satisfied. She did not ask about Louis, for she thought her uncle had been troubled enough. She felt that somewhere and somehow she had made a mistake.

“I don’t believe little girls know just what is right to do without asking grown people,” she said, as they left the car and neared home. “It’s awfully hard to do right every time by yourself, isn’t it, Uncle Justus?”

“Yes; it is best to ask advice,” he replied, as he opened the front door with his latch-key.

Edna rushed in. The sitting-room seemed full of people. Who were they all? Why, there was Louis not run away at all, but safe and sound, with an arm fondly around his mother’s neck. And there no, it could not be! There were her own father and mother. Edna gave one scream of joy ignoring Aunt Elizabeth, whom she had not seen for three weeks, scarcely seeing Louis or anyone, but throwing herself into the dear arms for which she had so often longed during these last months.

“So, my little runaway, we have you safe and sound,” said her father.

Edna looked around bewildered. She a little runaway! Did he mean her? Why, it was Louis who ran away. “I didn’t run away,” she said, indignantly; “it was Louis,” and then everybody laughed why, she didn’t know.

“Now, give an account of yourself,” said Mr. Conway. “Who told you Louis had gone away?”

“Why, Ellen did,” replied Edna.

“So I had gone!” piped up Louis; “I went with papa and mamma to the hotel. They came this morning, and uncle and aunt came to take dinner with us there.”

“O,” exclaimed Edna, “and I sent word by the telegraph that you had runned away.”

“What made you think that?” asked Mrs. Conway.

Edna looked at Louis; he looked rather sheepish, but he was brave enough to help Edna out of the difficulty now that he had his father and mother at hand. “Why I I wrote to Edna,” he faltered; “I said I was going to run away, and and what did Ellen say?”

“She said let me see she why I asked where you were, and she said you were gone, and, of course, I thought you had run away, and when she said aunt and uncle had followed you I thought it must be so, and I was in such trouble I didn’t know what to do ’cept to telegraph your father so he would get you, somehow; and, O, dear! I saw some dreadful cows, and I was so scared that I tumbled up the steps and Mrs. Porter’s boys let me in. Then Mrs. Porter made me stay; and O, just think of it! I never knew my own papa and mamma were so near. Did you get my telegram?” she asked Mr. Morrison, innocently.

“No,” he said, laughing, “it may be at the hotel now, if it was re-sent by my friends in Pasadena. You were a dear child to think of doing something for Louis, although it turned out to be such a time of trial.”

“I think,” said Mrs. Conway, “that Uncle Justus is the one who has had the hardest time. We knew Edna was safe as soon as we reached here, for then the note from Mrs. Porter had been found. Poor Ellen was so distressed at your loss that she never once thought of giving Aunt Elizabeth the note. You meant well, daughter, but you were too young to take matters into your own hands.”

Then Mr. and Mrs. Morrison took their leave, and Louis went with them.

“I’m going home soon,” he said to his cousin. “Say, Edna, I’m awfully sorry about all this fuss. It was all my fault, but I did mean to run away, only father and mother came.”

“I’m very glad you didn’t go,” answered Edna.

It is very doubtful if Louis would have gone any great distance, even if he had started, although he stuck to it that the arrival of his parents alone prevented his making the venture.

“O, mamma! O, mamma! it is really you,” said Edna, when her cousin had gone. “When am I going home with you?”

“In a few days,” replied her mother.

Uncle Justus, looking at her, sighed.

“Don’t you want to stay with us?” asked Aunt Elizabeth, as if she, too, felt that it would be hard to part.

With the dear mother-arms so near it was not easy to think of anyone else, but the feeling sorry for people was always ready to rise in Edna’s heart, and she looked from one to the other. Poor Uncle Justus! she did not like to leave him, and even Aunt Elizabeth seemed more lovable when she considered the distance that would soon be between them.

“O,” she cried, “I want you all!”

“Well,” replied her father, cheerfully, “I don’t know but what that can be managed. I have been thinking of a plan which we will talk over to-morrow. Just now it is high time for runaways to be in bed;” and with a kiss all around Edna said “Good-night.”