Ida continued to rock. "But," said Mrs. Adams, "a great many children are lost every year and found. Sometimes the system does really work in a manner to astonish any one. I should not be surprised at any minute to see Mr. Edgham or a policeman walking in with her. But--well--there is so much to be done. The other night, when Mr. Adams and I went in to hear Mrs. Fiske, we drove eight blocks after the performance without seeing one policeman." "I suppose, though, if you had been really attacked, a dozen would have sprung out from somewhere," said Mrs. White, in a tearful voice. Mrs. White could not have heard Satan himself assailed without a word in his defence, such was the maternal pity of her heart. "That was what Mr. Adams said," retorted Mrs. Adams, with some asperity, "and I told him that I would rather the dozen policemen were in evidence before I was shot and robbed than after. I had on all my rings, and my diamond sunburst." "Do you not think, dear friend, that it would be a good plan to offer up our voices at the Throne of Grace for the safe restoration of the dear child?" asked Mrs. Applegate again. Her voice was sonorous, very much like her husband's. She felt that, so far as in her lay, she was taking his place. He was out of town. It was then that Maria rushed into the room. She ran straight up to her step-mother. The other women started. Ida continued to rock, and look at the Tiffany vase. It seemed as if she dared not take her eyes from it for fear of losing her expression. Then Maria spoke, and her voice did not sound like her own at all. It was accusatory, menacing. "Where is my little sister?" she cried. "Where is she?" Mrs. Jonas White rose, approached Maria, and put her arms around her caressingly. "You poor, dear child," she sobbed, "I guess you do feel it. You did set a heap by that blessed little thing, didn't you?" "She is in the hands of the Lord," said Mrs. Applegate. "If the police of New York were worth anything, she would be in the police station by this time," said Mrs. Adams, with a fierce toss of her pretty blond head. "We know not where His islands lift their fronded palms in air; we only know we cannot drift beyond His love and care," said Mrs. Applegate, with a solemn aside. Tears were in her own eyes, but she resolutely checked her impulse to weep. She felt that it would show a lack of faith. She was entirely in earnest. "Mebbe she _is_ in the police-station," sobbed Mrs. White, continuing to embrace Maria. But Maria gave her a forcible push away, and again addressed herself to her step-mother. "Where is she?" she demanded. "Oh, you poor, dear child! Your ma don't know where she is, and she is so awful upset, she sets there jest like marble," said Mrs. White. "She isn't upset at all. You don't know her as well as I do," said Maria, mercilessly. "She thinks she ought to act upset, so she sits this way. She isn't upset." "Oh, Maria!" gasped Mrs. White.