"That's Henderson's mare, and that's their wooden-legged hired man!
Why, what is it?"

The last words were cried aloud, for the galloping old horse and
driver were at the gate now, and eyes less sharp than Mary Bell's
would have detected something wrong.

"What IS it?" she cried again, at the gate. The man pulled up
sharply.

"Say, ain't there a man here, nowhere?" he demanded abruptly. "I've
been banging at every house along the way; ain't there a soul in the
place?"

"Dance!" explained Mary Bell. "The Ladies' Improvement Society in
Pitcher's new barn. Why! what is it? Mrs. Henderson sick?"

"No, ma'am!" said the old fellow, "but things is pretty serious down
there!" He jerked his hand over his shoulder. "There's some little
fellers,--four or five of 'em!--seems they took a boat to-day, to go
ducking, and they're lost in the tide-marsh! My God--an' I never
thought of the dance!" He gave a despairing glance at the quiet
street. "I come here to get twenty men--or thirty--for the search!"
he said heavily. "I don't know what to do, now!"

Mary Bell had turned very white.

"There isn't a soul here, Stumpy!" she said, terrified eyes on his
face. "There isn't a man in town! What CAN we do!--Say!" she cried
suddenly, springing to the seat, "drive me over to Mrs. Rowe's;