LOST.
It was two miles from the home of Mr. Ribsam to the little stone
school-house where his children were receiving their education. A short
distance from the dwelling a branch road turned off to the left, which,
being followed nine miles or so, mostly through woods, brought one to
the little country town of Dunbarton.
Between the home of Gustav Ribsam and the school-house were only two
dwellings. The first, on the left, belonged to Mr. Marston, whose land
adjoined that of the Hollander, while the second was beyond the fork of
the roads and was owned by Mr. Kilgore, who lived a long distance back
from the highway.
Nick Ribsam, as he grew in years and strength, became more valuable to
his father, who found it necessary, now and then, to keep him home from
school. This, however, did not happen frequently, for the parents were
anxious that their children should receive a good school education, and
Nick's readiness enabled him to recover, very quickly, the ground thus
lost.
There was not so much need of Nellie, and, when at the age of six she
began her attendance, she rarely missed a day. If it was stormy she was
bundled up warmly, and, occasionally, she was taken in the carriage when
the weather was too severe for walking.
The summer was gone when Nick helped harness the roan mare to the
carriage, and, driving down to the forks, let Nellie out, and kept on
toward Dunbarton, while the little girl continued ahead in the direction
of the school-house.
"I've got to stay there so long," said Nick, in bidding his sister
good-by, "that I won't be here much before four o'clock, so I will look
out for you and you can look out for me and I'll take you home."
Nellie said she would not forget, and walked cheerfully up the road,
singing a school song to herself.
The little girl, when early enough, stopped at the house of Mr.
Marston, whose girl Lizzie attended school. This morning, however, when
Nick called from the road, he was told that Lizzie had been gone some
time, so he drove on without her.
The dwelling of Mr. Kilgore stood so far back that Nellie never could
spare the time to walk up the long lane and back again, but she
contented herself with peering up the tree-lined avenue in quest of
Sallie and Bobby Kilgore.
However, they were also invisible, and so it was that Nellie made the
rest of the journey alone.
The distance being so considerable, Nellie and Nick always carried their
dinners with them, so that, after their departure in the morning, the
parents did not expect to see them again until between four and five in
the afternoon.
The roan mare was young and spirited, but not vicious, and the boy had
no trouble in controlling her.
When half way through the stretch of woods they crossed a bridge, whose
planks rattled so loudly under the wheels and hoofs that the animal
showed a disposition to rear and plunge over the narrow railing at the
side.
But the boy used his whip so vigorously that he quickly tamed the beast,
which was not slow to understand that her master was holding the reins.
When Nick was on such journeys as these, he generally carried his
father's watch, so as to "make his connections" better. The timepiece
was of great size and thickness, having been made somewhere in England a
good many years before. It ticked so loudly that it sounded like a
cricket, and would have betrayed any person in an ordinary sized room,
when there was no unusual noise. Nick's own handsome watch was too
valuable for him to carry.
The former was so heavy that it seemed to Nick, when walking with it,
that he went in a one-sided fashion. However, the lad was quite proud of
it, and perhaps took it out oftener than was necessary, especially when
he saw the eyes of others upon him.
Nick was kept in Dunbarton so long by the many errands he had to
perform, that he was fully an hour late in starting. The mare was
spirited enough to make up this time, if urged, but there was no need of
doing so, and the boy knew his father would prefer him not to push the
animal when no urgency existed.
Thus it came about that when Nick re-entered the main highway that
afternoon, and looked in the direction of the school-house, he saw
nothing of Nellie, nor indeed of any one coming from the school.
"She has gone home long ago," was his conclusion, as he allowed the mare
to drop into a brisk trot, which speedily took him to his house.
When Nick had put away the horse and rendered up his account of the
errands done, he was surprised to learn that Nellie had not yet
appeared.
"I cannot understand what keeps her," said the father, in his native
tongue; "she was never so late before."
It was plain from the mother's face and manner that she also was
anxious, for she frequently went to the gate, and, shading her eyes,
looked long and anxiously down the road, hoping that the figure of the
little girl would come to view, with some explanation of the cause for
her delay.
But the sun was low in the west, and its slanting rays brought to light
the figure of no child hurrying homeward. The single object that was
mistaken for the loved one proved to be a man on horseback, who turned
off at the forks and vanished.
"Nick, go look for your sister," said his mother, as she came back from
one of these visits to the gate; "something has happened."
The boy was glad of the order, for he was on the point of asking
permission to hunt for Nellie.
"I'll stay till I find out something," said Nick, as he donned his hat
and took a general look over himself to see that he was in shape, "so
don't worry about _me_."
"But you ought not to be gone so long," said the father, whose anxious
face showed that he was debating whether he should not join his boy in
the search, "for it won't take long to find out where Nellie is."
"I think she has been taken sick and has stopped with some of the
neighbors," ventured the mother, "but it is strange they do not send me
word."
And it was the very fact that such word was not sent that prevented the
husband and son from believing in the theory of the distressed mother.
But Nick did not let the grass grow under his feet. His worriment was as
great as that of his parents, and as soon as he was in the road he broke
into a trot, which he kept up until beyond sight, both father and mother
standing at the gate and watching him until he faded from view in the
gathering twilight.
The point where he disappeared was beyond the house of Mr. Marston, so
it was safe to conclude he had learned nothing of his sister there,
where he was seen to halt.
There is nothing more wearisome than waiting in such suspense as came to
the hearts of the father and mother, while they sat watching and
listening for the sound of the childish footsteps and voices whose music
would have been the sweetest on earth to them.
The supper on the table remained untasted, and the only sounds heard
were the solemn ticking of the old clock, the soft rustling of the
kettle on the stove, and now and then a long drawn sigh from father or
mother, as one strove to utter a comforting word to the other.
All at once the gate was opened and shut hastily. Then a hurried step
sounded along the short walk and upon the porch.
"There they are! there they are!" exclaimed the mother, starting to her
feet, as did the father.
Almost on the same instant the door was thrown open, and, panting and
excited, Nick Ribsam entered.
But he was alone, and the expression of his face showed that he had
brought bad news.