MISSING!
"Well, well," said Mr. Rowles, "never mind; we must eat our dinners
without her. She would not miss her share of this cabbage if she knew
how tasty and juicy it is."
Mrs. Rowles sat down very unwillingly. If the child was not on the
island where could she be? It was very strange.
"She has no idea of time," Mr. Rowles went on, between mouthfuls of
the cabbage. "I'm not going to blame her for that; she only takes
after her father, who does not know day from night."
They had a dull meal, being more anxious about Juliet than they cared
to confess to each other. They thought she might have gone up the
towing-path, or down the towing-path, or by the road towards the
village, or by the fields towards the station. And at every sound from
outside someone went to the door peering out with the hope of seeing
the child. But an hour passed, and no Juliet appeared. Then her aunt
became seriously anxious, dreading lest some terrible thing should
have happened.
"If she had fallen into the lock--" said Mrs. Rowles.
"We should have heard her scream," said Mr. Rowles.
"If she had been kidnapped by gipsies," said Emily; "but then--"
"There are no gipsies about," said Philip.
Mrs. Rowles now began to think that Juliet must have set off to go
home. "We have not been kind enough to her, poor child, and she can't
bear it any longer."
"Don't talk nonsense," was Rowles's reply, as he obeyed a call to the
lock. "We've been too kind; and if Thomas Mitchell had taken to any
sensible business that did not keep him up all night, thereby breaking
down his health, he would be able to support his family, and there
would be no need for us to bother ourselves with such a cross-grained
girl as that. Now, Phil, off to your digging again. Yes, gents, I
know; how they do keep calling out for one, to be sure!"
Philip went out to the kitchen-garden. Within a few minutes his voice
was heard, loudly raised.
"Here! Father! Mother! Emily! Come quick! Just look here!"
All three responded to his call
"Whatever is the matter?"
"Why, look there! The boat is gone!"
"So she is! Well, I never!" and Mr. Rowles stared blankly at the post
to which his boat was usually moored. "Someone has made off with the
_Fairy_. That beats everything!"
Mrs. Rowles was wringing her hands. "Oh, dear, dear, dear! This is
worse than I expected. She never will come home again safe!"
"No," said the lock-keeper, "them that has took her are not likely to
send her back; and if so be as she has drifted down by accident she
will be drawn over Banksome Weir and be smashed. I'm glad she is only
an old, worn-out thing."
"An old, worn-out thing!" cried Mrs. Rowles, quite wildly. "A poor,
dear child of twelve! What are you thinking of?"
"I was thinking of the _Fairy_. You don't mean, wife--" and he grew
more serious--"you don't mean that you think the child was in her?"
"That is what I do think, Ned."
"Well, that is bad."
"And see," cried Phil, "she must have taken the sculls, for they are
gone too. I know Juliet thought she could manage a boat; she said so
the other day."
Emily was crying. Mr and Mrs. Rowles looked at each other in an agony.
They knew pretty well what must happen to Juliet alone in a boat. She
would be carried rapidly down stream, and the current would draw the
little bark to the weir, and over the weir, and it would be dashed
about by the swirling rush of water, capsized, and its occupant thrown
out. And nothing more would be seen of poor Juliet but a white,
lifeless body carried home.
Oh, it was too sad to think of!
"What can we do? What can we do? What would her own mother do?"
"Hope for the best, Emma," said Mr. Rowles. "If I had another boat I
would send Phil down to look for her. Perhaps the next boat that goes
through would let him jump into the bows."
"I might run down the towing-path," said Phil. "I can run pretty
quick."
"And if you did see her in the _Fairy_ out in mid-stream, how could
you get near enough to help her? No; the only chance will be to ask
some of them to take you down in their boat. Here they come; both
ways."
The lower gate of the lock was open, so that the boat coming up passed
through first. Rowles worked the handles as quickly as he could;
standing on the bank while the lock filled he asked the two gentlemen
in the boat if they had seen anything of a little girl out by herself
on the river.
"No," replied one of the young men; "we only started from just below
Littlebourne Ferry. I have noticed no little girl in a boat."
"Nor I," added the other gentleman. "And I think I should have noticed
such a person, for little girls don't often go out boating alone."
"And an ignorant London child, too," groaned Mr. Rowles. "And many a
time I told her never to think of boating by herself; but she is so
obstinate and so stupid, there is no knowing what she has done. And if
you gentlemen have not met her, she must have got below Littlebourne
Ferry, and then she would be very near Banksome Weir, and there is no
saying what has become of her."
The two gentlemen looked very grave, but did not offer to turn and go
down stream to look for Juliet.
As their boat came out of the lock another was waiting to come in. It
contained Mr. Webster, the vicar of Littlebourne, and his wife.
"Beg your pardon, sir," said Rowles as soon as he had closed the gate
above them, "would you mind if Philip was to jump into your bows and
go down a bit with you? Because there's a girl, my niece in fact, who
must have gone off in my little _Fairy_, and she don't know bow oar
from stroke, and if she gets alongside Banksome Weir she'll go over
and be drowned."
"Oh, dear me!" said Mr. Webster. "How did the child come to be all
alone in a boat?"
"Through being brought up without a grain of sense. What can you
expect when the father sleeps all day so that he never can give a word
of advice to his children? Now, in with you, Phil; and I shall be glad
to see you come back--" he broke off with a cough.
"I will pull as hard as I can," said Mr. Webster. "We must hope that
by God's mercy the child will be saved."
Phil dropped from the bank into the boat, and the moment they were out
of the lock the boat went flying down the river as fast as the current
and the vicar's strong arms could send her.
"She will be very wet when she comes in," said Mrs. Rowles; "it is
beginning to rain."
"She'll be pretty wet if she's been in the river," said Mr. Rowles.
His wife heaped up the kitchen fire and put coffee on to boil, and
laid some clean garments to get warm, and waited with anxious heart
for some news of the missing child.
Emily went up to the attic and looked at the belongings of Juliet,
which lay on the table and hung on pegs. Her cousin's real character
was better known to Emily than to anyone else at Littlebourne Lock.
Juliet was proud and conceited, and thought she could do whatever
other people did; then, when her carelessness brought her into
accidents and difficulties, she would grow very cross and angry with
herself, and when reproved for her faults would say, "I don't care;
I'm that stupid and awkward that I can't do anything right." Emily had
seen her stamping on the ground at the end of the garden after some
unfortunate occurrence, and had heard her sobbing and choking in her
bed after some stern words from Mr. Rowles. Emily knew that it was not
humility but wounded pride which made Juliet so sullen and dull; and
Emily wondered if a girl who did not wish to learn, and would not
condescend to be taught, could ever possibly improve.
"And if she is drowned," cried Emily with a burst of tears, "she can
never learn anything more on earth! Oh, I do pray to God to let Juliet
be saved, and learn, and grow better!"
The sky became dark, distant thunder growled over the hill; would
Juliet Mitchell escape the consequences of her disobedience and
self-conceit?