Fifteen minutes later the great clock in the hallway of the Harrington homestead struck six.  At precisely the last stroke Nancy sounded the bell for supper.

One, two, three minutes passed.  Miss Polly frowned and tapped the floor with her slipper.  A little jerkily she rose to her feet, went into the hall, and looked up-stairs, plainly impatient.  For a minute she listened intently; then she turned and swept into the dining room.

“Nancy,” she said with decision, as soon as the little serving-maid appeared; “my niece is late.  No, you need not call her,” she added severely, as Nancy made a move toward the hall door.  “I told her what time supper was, and now she will have to suffer the consequences.  She may as well begin at once to learn to be punctual.  When she comes down she may have bread and milk in the kitchen.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  It was well, perhaps, that Miss Polly did not happen to be looking at Nancy’s face just then.

At the earliest possible moment after supper, Nancy crept up the back stairs and thence to the attic room.

“Bread and milk, indeed!—­and when the poor lamb hain’t only just cried herself to sleep,” she was muttering fiercely, as she softly pushed open the door.  The next moment she gave a frightened cry.  “Where are you?  Where’ve you gone?  Where have you gone?” she panted, looking in the closet, under the bed, and even in the trunk and down the water pitcher.  Then she flew down-stairs and out to Old Tom in the garden.

“Mr. Tom, Mr. Tom, that blessed child’s gone,” she wailed.  “She’s vanished right up into Heaven where she come from, poor lamb—­and me told ter give her bread and milk in the kitchen—­her what’s eatin’ angel food this minute, I’ll warrant, I’ll warrant!”

The old man straightened up.

“Gone?  Heaven?” he repeated stupidly, unconsciously sweeping the brilliant sunset sky with his gaze.  He stopped, stared a moment intently, then turned with a slow grin.  “Well, Nancy, it do look like as if she’d tried ter get as nigh Heaven as she could, and that’s a fact,” he agreed, pointing with a crooked finger to where, sharply outlined against the reddening sky, a slender, wind-blown figure was poised on top of a huge rock.

“Well, she ain’t goin’ ter Heaven that way ter-night—­not if I has my say,” declared Nancy, doggedly.  “If the mistress asks, tell her I ain’t furgettin’ the dishes, but I gone on a stroll,” she flung back over her shoulder, as she sped toward the path that led through the open field.

CHAPTER V. THE GAME

“For the land’s sake, Miss Pollyanna, what a scare you did give me,” panted Nancy, hurrying up to the big rock, down which Pollyanna had just regretfully slid.

“Scare?  Oh, I’m so sorry; but you mustn’t, really, ever get scared about me, Nancy.  Father and the Ladies’ Aid used to do it, too, till they found I always came back all right.”