“Oh, gracious! that was more than a hundred years ago,” said Betsy.  She was not thinking of what she was saying.  She was thinking that if they were on the right road they ought to be home by this time.  She was thinking that the right road ran down hill to the house all the way, and that this certainly seemed to be going up a little.  She was wondering what had become of Shep.  “Stand here just a minute, Molly,” she said.  “I want ...  I just want to go ahead a little bit and see ... and see ...”  She darted on around a curve of the road and stood still, her heart sinking.  The road turned there and led straight up the mountain!

For just a moment the little girl felt a wild impulse to burst out in a shriek for Aunt Frances, and to run crazily away, anywhere so long as she was running.  But the thought of Molly standing back there, trustfully waiting to be taken care of, shut Betsy’s lips together hard before her scream of fright got out.  She stood still, thinking.  Now she mustn’t get frightened.  All they had to do was to walk back along the road till they came to the fork and then make the right turn.  But what if they didn’t get back to the turn till it was so dark they couldn’t see it ... ?  Well, she mustn’t think of that.  She ran back, calling, “Come on, Molly,” in a tone she tried to make as firm as Cousin Ann’s.  “I guess we have made the wrong turn after all.  We’d better ...”

But there was no Molly there.  In the brief moment Betsy had stood thinking, Molly had disappeared.  The long, shadowy wood road held not a trace of her.

Then Betsy was frightened and then she did begin to scream, at the top of her voice, “Molly!  Molly!” She was beside herself with terror, and started back hastily to hear Molly’s voice, very faint, apparently coming from the ground under her feet.

“Ow!  Ow!  Betsy!  Get me out!  Get me out!”

“Where are you?” shrieked Betsy.

“I don’t know!” came Molly’s sobbing voice.  “I just moved the least little bit out of the road, and slipped on the ice and began to slide and I couldn’t stop myself and I fell down into a deep hole!”

Betsy’s head felt as though her hair were standing up straight on end with horror.  Molly must have fallen down into the Wolf Pit!  Yes, they were quite near it.  She remembered now that big white-birch tree stood right at the place where the brook tumbled over the edge and fell into it.  Although she was dreadfully afraid of falling in herself, she went cautiously over to this tree, feeling her way with her foot to make sure she did not slip, and peered down into the cavernous gloom below.  Yes, there was Molly’s little face, just a white speck.  The child was crying, sobbing, and holding up her arms to Betsy.

“Are you hurt, Molly?”

“No.  I fell into a big snow-bank, but I’m all wet and frozen and I want to get out!  I want to get out!”

Betsy held on to the birch-tree.  Her head whirled.  What should she do!  “Look here, Molly,” she called down, “I’m going to run back along to the right road and back to the house and get Uncle Henry.  He’ll come with a rope and get you out!”