“Why, she can’t be far away,” cried Carin, trembling in spite of herself. “I’m sure I can find her, Mrs. McBirney. Where’s Mr. Thompson? He’ll go with me back to the place where we were together. She came after us for a way, I know. I thought she followed the whole way, but the singing was just beginning, and I ran in the church, not noticing.” “Of course we’ll find her, Mrs. McBirney,” Mr. Carson declared stoutly. “The child couldn’t get lost in a clearing like this.” “Perhaps she lit out,” drawled a mountain woman who was standing near. “You can’t tell what a girl brought up to lead a wandering life might do. Tramps like that ain’t to be depended on to keep to roof and hearth.” Mary McBirney turned toward the woman with flashing eyes. “My Azalea wouldn’t do anything to make me trouble, ma’am,” she said. “She’s got a heart of gold. Something has happened—that’s the whole of it—something has happened.” Carin had sped in search of Mr. Thompson, and having found him, the two set off in the woods in search of the dell. “Haystack’s” hair seemed to tower higher than ever, and his green felt cover was half off his violin, and dangled among the bushes as the two hastened through the wood. In Carin’s heart was the terrible thought of the rattlesnake. What if the mate to the one Mr. Thompson had killed had stung Azalea! But why, then, had she not cried out? It was past imagining. Mr. Thompson took Carin’s hand in his that they might go faster, and the two hastened on through the sun-flecked wood till they came to the beautiful hollow with the soft green grass. But they could see nothing of Azalea, and their calls and halloos brought no answer. “We must try another tack,” said Mr. Thompson. “Something queer about this—something mighty queer.” So all the neighbors seemed to think. The news that Azalea was missing had spread rapidly. It had overtaken the departing wagon-loads of neighbors, who returned to lend their assistance to their distressed neighbors. Parties ran out in all directions, scouring the woods, calling, peeping into the old well, and visiting the near-by houses. No one had seen or heard anything of the girl. “You don’t think she’d go into hiding, sister McBirney,” inquired good old Elder Mills, with sympathy in his eye. “She didn’t seem like that sort of a girl, but she might have taken offense at something when no offense was meant. Young folks are like that, sometimes. I ran away from a good home twice when I was a boy, because my feelings were so precious tender. Great fools young folks are! And the worst of it is, they don’t all grow out of their folly when they get older.” Mrs. McBirney stood there among her neighbors and cast her eye first on this group and then on that.