I am afraid the truth was that Lisa spoilt her dear Baby a little!

After a while she looked out again. She did not see Herr Baby this time, but she did not think anything of it.

"They will have gone to play among the bushes," she said to herself, meaning by "they" Baby and Minet of course, and she went on with what she was doing, and got so interested in helping Peters to explain to Francois that in England people always changed the wine gla.s.ses at the end of dinner, and put clean ones for dessert, that the time went on without it ever entering her head to say to herself, "What can have become of Herr Baby?"

Mother and auntie were later than they had expected of returning from their drive. They had gone a long way, and coming back it was mostly up-hill.

"Fritz will be thinking we have forgotten him," said mother, looking at her watch, "but I told him to be sure to wait till we came. He is too little to go home alone yet, at least till he knows his way quite well or can speak enough to ask."

"We might have told Celia and Denny to call for him, as they are out with Mademoiselle," said auntie.

Just then in turning a corner, for they were quite in the town now, auntie's eyes caught sight of the narrow street where the old curiosity shop was.

"By the by," she said, "I should so like to ask about that picture. I told you about it, you remember, May?"--May, you know, was the children's mother's name--"have we time to go that way?"

"I'm afraid not; we are late already," said mother. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh, never mind, another day will do quite well," said auntie, cheerfully.

So they drove home, quickly, just stopping a moment to pick up Fritz, who was waiting for them at the gate of his school.

If they _had_ happened to go round by the old curiosity shop, how surprised they would have been; but what a great deal of trouble it would have saved them, as you shall hear.

Lisa met them as they got home, with a long story about the table and the flowers and the stupidness of Francois, which mother and auntie could hardly help laughing at.

"Never mind, Lisa," said mother; "it will do very well, I am sure. Where are the children?"

"Upstairs, Miladi, taking off their things. They have just come in,"

said Lisa, never thinking, somehow, as mother said the "children," but that she was talking of Celia and Denny. For, somehow, in this family--in every family there are little habits of the kind--Baby was not often spoken of among "the children." They had all got so used to the name of Herr Baby, which Lisa had called him by since he was quite a wee baby, that he was seldom spoken of by any other, and often Baby himself would talk gravely about "the children," without any one seeming to think it odd.

"Upstairs, are they?" said mother. "Well, run off, Fritz, dear, and try and get some of your lessons done before tea. Mademoiselle will help you a little, I daresay, before she goes."

Off ran Fritz. He was a very good boy about his lessons, and anxious to get on well. More to please Lisa and the others than that they cared, mother and auntie went into the dining-room. They were standing looking at the pretty flowers and leaves, when suddenly Fritz put his head in at the door again.

"Lisa," he said, "where's Baby? He's not upstairs, and he's not in the garden. Linley said you told him to play there this afternoon, but he's _not_ there."

Lisa started, and her face grew white.

"Mine child!" she cried. "Ah, but he must be in the garden, Master Fritz! I saw him there so happy, with the cat, just--ah, how long ago was it? Have I forgotten him for so long? He must be hiding--to play, to--how do you say?" for Lisa's English was very apt to fly away when she got frightened or upset. "Ach, where can he be?" and off darted poor Lisa.

Mother and auntie and Fritz looked at each other.

"Can he be _lost_?" said Fritz, with a very frightened face.

"Oh no, no," said auntie. "Lisa is so easily startled. But still----"

"Let us all go and look for him at once," said mother. "What a good thing poor grandfather isn't back yet!"

CHAPTER VIII.

FOUND

----"he was not there: We searched the house, the grounds--in vain; We searched the green in our despair, And then we searched the house again."

It _was_ a good thing grandfather was out, for--and this was what mother was thinking of--poor grandfather, though he looked such a fine, tall, gray-haired old gentleman, was not really very strong or well. It was a great deal for him that they had all come abroad this winter, and the doctors had told mother and auntie that anything to startle or distress him might make him very ill indeed. Poor grandfather! I can't tell you what a kind, good man he was. He had stayed a great many years in India, though he would have liked dreadfully to come home, because it was "his duty" he said, and this had made him seem older than he really was, for a hot country is very wearing out to people who are not born to it.

And, though he was so fond of his grandchildren, I think if he _had_ a pet among them, it was little Herr Baby. The mere idea of his tiny Raymond--Baby was named Raymond after grandfather--being lost, even for an hour or two, would have troubled him dreadfully, and thinking of this, auntie, too, repeated after mother,

"Yes, indeed, what a good thing grandfather isn't in. We _mustn't_ let him know, May, till Baby's found."

They didn't stay to say anything more. Off they all set into the garden, for, though Fritz said he had looked all over, they couldn't feel sure that they might not find Baby in some corner, hiding, perhaps, for fun, even. But when they had all been round and round the garden in every direction--mother, and auntie, and Celia, and Denny, and Fritz, and Mademoiselle Lucie, and Lisa, and Linley, and Peters, and Francois, and, even at the end I believe, Monsieur Jean-Georges himself, and the rest of the French servants--when they had all looked, and peeped, and shouted, and whistled, and begged, and prayed Baby to come out if he was hiding, and there was no answer, then they gave it up. It was impossible that the little man could be in the garden.

Where could he be?

Fortunately there was nowhere in the garden where he could have hurt himself--no pit or pond into which he could have fallen. And it was surely impossible that any one could have come into the garden and stolen him away, as Celia, with a pale face, whispered to auntie. Where could he be, and what should they do?

Time was pa.s.sing--the friends who were coming to dinner would be at the villa before long; grandfather was _sure_ to appear in a few minutes.

What could they do?

"We must not tell grandfather, that is certain," said auntie. "May, dear, it is very hard on you, I know, but I'll tell you how it must be.

You must stay here quietly and be ready for the friends who are coming, and I will go off at once and do all, everything I can think of.

Mademoiselle Lucie, you know the town, and you can tell me all about the police, and where to go to _in case_ we don't find our darling at once, though I quite think we shall. I can't take you, Peters," for Peters was eagerly coming forward, "Sir Raymond would miss you, nor you, Lisa, for you must take care of the other children," at which Lisa all but broke out crying; "It was too good of Mademoiselle Helene to trust her; she didn't deserve it." "And Francois would be no good. You and I, Mademoiselle Lucie, will go at once. And you must tell grandfather that I was obliged to go out, for an hour or two, unexpectedly."

"I am afraid he will think it very strange," said mother, "but I will do my best."

Mother spoke quietly, but her face was very white.

"Do go, Nelly," she said, "as quick as you can."

And Celia and Denny, who had been thinking of bursting into tears, took example by her and auntie, and tried to look cheerful.

"Auntie," said Celia, running after her to the gate, "I'll be very good and try to comfort mother. And we'll not let grandfather think there's anything wrong. But oh, auntie dear, I _hope_ you'll soon bring dear Baby safe home."

"So do I, darling," said auntie, stooping to kiss her, even though she was so hurried, and, for the first time, there was a little quiver in her voice, and Celia ran back to the others, thinking even more than before how good and brave auntie was.

They hastened down the road, auntie and little Mademoiselle Lucie, I mean. But when they had gone some little way, auntie stopped short.

"He may have gone by the other road, and we may miss him that way;" for, without thinking, auntie had hurried out by the little gate opening on to the lower road.

"I think not," said Mademoiselle Lucie, "at least the concierge would have been sure to see him, and we did ask her, and she had not seen him at all."

"To be sure," said auntie, "I forgot about the concierge."

"Besides," Mademoiselle Lucie continued, "to get to the town he must pa.s.s the way we are going, a little farther on where the two roads run together."