“She ain’t in the house,” she said hoarsely. “She’s gone over there!” David Spafford turned surprised. “Is that you, Miranda? Oh, thank you! Where do you say she has gone? Where?” “Through there, don’t you see?” and again the stubby forefinger pointed to the rift in the wheat. David gazed stupidly at the path in the wheat, but gradually it began to dawn upon him that there was a distinct line through it where some one must have gone. “Yes, I see,” he said thinking aloud, “but why should she have gone there? There is nothing over there.” “She went on further, she went to the woods,” said Miranda, looking fearfully around lest even now her grandmother might be upon her, “and she was scared, I guess. She looked it. Her hair all come tumblin’ down when she clum the fence, an’ she just went flyin’ over like some bird, didn’t care a feather if she did fall, an’ she never oncet looked behind her till she come to the woods.” David’s bewilderment was growing uncomfortable. There was a shade of alarm in his face and of the embarrassment one feels when a neighbor divulges news about a member of one’s own household. “Why, surely, Miranda, you must be mistaken. Maybe it was some one else you saw. I do not think Mrs. Spafford would be likely to run over there that way, and what in the world would she have to be frightened at?” “No, I ain’t mistaken,” said Miranda half sullenly, nettled at his unbelief. “It was her all right. She came flyin’ out the kitchen door when I was picking raspberries, and down that path to the fence, and never stopped fer fence ner wheat, ner medder lot, but went into them woods there, right up to the left of them tall pines, and she,—she looked plum scared to death ’s if a whole circus menagerie was after her, lions and ’nelefunts an’ all. An’ I guess she had plenty to be scared at ef I ain’t mistaken. That dandy Temple feller went there to call on her, an’ I heard him tinklin’ that music box, and its my opinion he needs a wallupin’! You better go after her! It’s gettin’ late and you’ll have hard times finding her in the dark. Just you foller her path in the wheat, and then make fer them pines. I’d a gone after her myself only grandma’d make sech a fuss, and hev to know it all. You needn’t be afraid o’ me. I’ll keep still.” By this time David was thoroughly alive to the situation and much alarmed. He mounted the fence with alacrity, gave one glance with “thank you” at Miranda, and disappeared through the wheat, Miranda watched him till she was sure he was making for the right spot, then with a sigh of relief she hastened into the house with her now brimming pail of berries. CHAPTER XV