"Well, my child, I don't understand why you should; but we had better go straight home now, and relieve the minds of your friends."
Edna did not talk much on the way home, but she held Uncle Justus' hand very tightly. "Was I very bad?" once she asked, softly.
Uncle Justus, for answer, gave her hand a little squeeze, and she was satisfied. She did not ask about Louis, for she thought her uncle had been troubled enough. She felt that somewhere and somehow she had made a mistake.
"I don't believe little girls know just what is right to do without asking grown people," she said, as they left the car and neared home. "It's awfully hard to do right every time by yourself, isn't it, Uncle Justus?"
"Yes; it is best to ask advice," he replied, as he opened the front door with his latch-key.
Edna rushed in. The sitting-room seemed full of people. Who were they all? Why, there was Louis--not run away at all, but safe and sound, with an arm fondly around his mother's neck. And there--no, it could not be! There were her own father and mother. Edna gave one scream of joy--ignoring Aunt Elizabeth, whom she had not seen for three weeks, scarcely seeing Louis or anyone, but throwing herself into the dear arms for which she had so often longed during these last months.
"So, my little runaway, we have you safe and sound," said her father.
Edna looked around bewildered. She a little runaway! Did he mean her? Why, it was Louis who ran away. "I didn't run away," she said, indignantly; "it was Louis," and then everybody laughed--why, she didn't know.
"Now, give an account of yourself," said Mr. Conway. "Who told you Louis had gone away?"
"So I had gone!" piped up Louis; "I went with papa and mamma to the hotel. They came this morning, and uncle and aunt came to take dinner with us there."
"O," exclaimed Edna, "and I sent word by the telegraph that you had runned away."
"What made you think that?" asked Mrs. Conway.
Edna looked at Louis; he looked rather sheepish, but he was brave enough to help Edna out of the difficulty now that he had his father and mother at hand. "Why--I--I--wrote to Edna," he faltered; "I said I was going to run away, and--and--what did Ellen say?"
"She said--let me see--she--why I asked where you were, and she said you were gone, and, of course, I thought you had run away, and when she said aunt and uncle had followed you I thought it must be so, and I was in such trouble I didn't know what to do 'cept to telegraph your father so he would get you, somehow; and, O, dear! I saw some dreadful cows, and I was so scared that I tumbled up the steps and Mrs. Porter's boys let me in. Then Mrs. Porter made me stay; and O, just think of it! I never knew my own papa and mamma were so near. Did you get my telegram?" she asked Mr. Morrison, innocently.