Alice was gone now. She was not in the garden, though she knew the gate was not quite closed. Perhaps she was inside. The little green house with the broken roof stood right in front of them. One had to step over the dead ferns before she could be seen. Alice began running. “Mother!” she called. “Father! Oh, Father, I’ve found her!” But neither moved.

“Come inside. Let’s go in. Father. Mother.”

She was frightened. What was she to do? Where was her brother? “Brother!” she called. She heard him moving along the path. At last he came. He was almost as pale as his mother. He went into the house with her. They stood in the doorway. “Where is she? What are you doing?” the mother called, peering at them through a half-open door. They were looking at the green house. The mother came out. There was no child in the doorway. “Did you find her? Where is she?”

Father answered. “We can’t find her.”

They went in to tell the old people. The old people came out to see. What was there to be seen? There was no sign of the child. Alice wondered if she ought to speak