It was 1968, and Mom had volunteered to take us four girls from Portland to Disneyland while Dad was on a business trip.

We were a handful — I was the oldest at 13; Mary was 9; Jean, 5; and Sarah, 3. And we had big plans: the Matterhorn, Teacups, Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, Sleeping Beauty's Castle and those nutty submarines that weren't even completely submerged.

The first couple of days were fun in that frantic way peculiar to Disneyland (Spend E-tickets first! Must! Get! Mouse! Ears! With! Name!).

But on morning No. 3, the magic drained out of the Magic Kingdom. After we entered the gates and were regrouping, we realized Jean was gone — vanished into the throngs fanning out into the park.

This was long before Amber Alerts and kidnapper SWAT teams, but still, this was bad. My frantic mother found a "constable" on Main Street USA who seemed unconcerned. He pointed us to the lost-kids station, which we were to come to know intimately.

It's not easy to see your mom come unglued, and I tried to herd my two nonlost sisters so mom could focus on freaking out. She was in tears as we careened around the park, dodging giant Dwarves, busting through lines of people waiting to get on rides and yelling for my sister, always looping back to the lost-kids' stand. She stopped to call my father, sobbing, "I've lost Jean, I've lost Jean." It seemed hopeless.

By mid-afternoon, though, we picked up a scent. The laid-back surfer-cops at the lost-kids stand said, "Oh yeah, little girl with curly hair and orange and pink culottes? A family brought her by, but since you weren't here, they decided to go to the Pirates of the Caribbean." Sure, like anybody would do.

The sun was setting when we spotted her, happily holding the hand of a nice lady with her husband and three kids. Jean was trying not to tip a lopsided chunk of cotton candy off its cone. Her face lit up when she saw us, and the lady who'd "adopted" her introduced herself and her family, and Jean excitedly told us about her adventure — hot dogs, lots of rides and ice cream and cotton candy.

My mother nearly passed out with fury and relief (I think she actually may have, back at the motel) and Jean never could understand what all the fuss was about.

Now a mother of three herself, she remembers it as one of the best days of the trip.

"I cried for about a minute when I couldn't find Mom," she says, "but then this nice lady and her family came by, and I thought, 'Great! I get to have another nice family.'

And then we had a great time doing Disneyland. What wasn't to like?"

Anne Hurley: ahurley@seattletimes.com