This letter Richard carried to Aunt Barbara,
whom he found sitting in her pleasant porch, with the May moonlight
falling upon her face, and her eyes wearing the look of one who is
constantly expecting something which never comes. And Aunt Barbara was
expecting Ethie. It could not be that a young girl like her would stay
away for long. She might return at any time, and every morning the good
woman said to herself, "She will be here to-day;" every night, "She will
come home to-morrow." The letter, however, did not warrant such a
conclusion There was no talk of coming back, but the postmark, "New
York," told where she was, and that was something gained. They could
surely find her now, Aunt Barbara said, and she and Richard talked long
together about what he was going to do, for he was on his way then to
the great city.
"Bring her to me at once. It is my privilege to have her first," Aunt
Barbara said, next morning, as she bade Richard good-by, and then began
to watch and wait for tidings which never came.
Richard could not find Ethelyn, or any trace of her, and after a
protracted search of six long weeks, he went back to his Iowa home,
sick, worn out, and discouraged.
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