GONE AMISSING!
"The old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravelled pathway
The light and shadow played.
"I saw the nursery windows
Wide open to the air;
But the faces of the children,
They were no longer there."
LONGFELLOW.
When dinner-time came without bringing the children in, nurse became
very cross indeed. Baby had been somewhat troublesome all the forenoon.
Auntie Alice had lately got into the habit of taking him of a morning,
walking him about in her arms, crooning sweet nothings over him in her
soothing voice. He was old enough to miss her, and to-day was not
satisfied at being put off with only nurse. He had, besides, a new tooth
coming--a tiny pearly thing, peeping like a speck of ivory from a bed
of coral. Very pretty to look at, certainly, but doubtless extremely
painful; at least Master Baby felt it so, for he fretted and cried in a
way which set poor Perry's nerves all on edge, and made her think that
the responsibilities of her position were almost too heavy to be borne
on one pair of shoulders.
Then Master Darby and Miss Joan--how tiresome they were! always up to
some mischief or other, said nurse to herself, as she ran between the
nursery window and the front door to watch if they were not coming
before their dinner should be spoiled. And such a nice dinner as it was,
too! Cook had arranged it as a surprise for them, because they were all
by themselves, knowing how much they enjoyed roast fowl, stewed apples
and cream. Now the fowl would be dried to a cinder, the potatoes moist
and sodden, the apples cold as charity!
They must have again disobeyed orders and gone away to the farm, nurse
concluded, when twelve o'clock, one o'clock, two o'clock passed, and
still no sign of the little ones. They would be well stuffed up there,
she was sure, and quite safe; only it was really too bad of Master Darby
to steal off that way without leave, and drag his little sister along
with him. He should have nothing but dry bread for his tea, Perry
decided. Then with a glance at the bassinet, where baby was soundly
sleeping away some of his fretfulness, and a careful adjustment of the
fire-guard on the nursery grate, nurse stole downstairs to get her own
dinner, which, like the children's, would be none the better for waiting
so long past the usual time.
Eric awoke from his sound, sweet sleep refreshed and hungry. Nurse fed
him; then, as the air was mild and the sun warm, she put on his coat and
cap and carried him into the garden to watch the pussies at play.
The afternoon shadows began to lengthen, the sun slipped slowly to the
west, baby grew weary of pulling at the pussies' tails and turned
peevish again, and still the others were absent. By this time nurse had
grown downright angry with them for staying away so long. It was a shame
of Mrs. Grey to keep them. Master Darby deserved a sound smacking, nurse
said to herself; and only that she was not permitted to punish her
charges in such a manner, a sound smacking Master Darby should have
had--when nurse could catch him, that is to say. Now, however, she must
go for them. Mrs. Grey would be thinking they were neglected in the
absence of their aunts, and perhaps telling tales. So, after wrapping
Eric up warmly in a big woolly shawl, she tucked him into his
perambulator and set off up the glen road, past the wood and the
turnip-field, to Copsley Farm, expecting at every turn to meet Darby and
Joan rushing towards her on their homeward way. But no such interruption
to her progress occurred.
When she reached the farm an unpleasant surprise awaited her. Neither
Darby nor Joan had been there that day--not since the Friday, said Mrs.
Grey; and she was disappointed, because, having heard that the ladies
were going from home without the children, she quite expected they would
have lost no time in paying her a visit.
At that moment Mr. Grey came in from the barn, where he had been
threshing corn all the afternoon. He was tired, heated, and hungry for
his tea, and only laughed when his wife told him that the little folks
from Firgrove had gone amissing.
"Well, an' what if they have?" he exclaimed, in his loud, hearty voice.
"That needn't scare you. Aren't they always gettin' into trouble o' some
kind or another, the pair o' them? Why, sure it's only the other day
there that I found them wandered in Copsley Wood, like two motherless
lambs! They were lost, the little 'un told me, quite lost! An' there
they were sittin', the two o' them, on the stump o' an old tree, wrapped
in one another's arms, for all the world like the babes in the wood--an'
not more'n half a dozen yards from the highway!"
"An' that's where they are now, sure enough," said Mrs. Grey, in a tone
of conviction. "They'll have gone back after them squirrels that led
them such a dance on Friday! What do you think, Miss Perry?" she asked
anxiously.
"I am certain of it too, now that you mention it," replied nurse,
looking aghast at the thought. "Miss Joan was fair wild to get a
squirrel; and Master Darby, he's that venturesome he would face
anything. He doesn't know the meaning of fear for all he's so gentle and
innocent-like. And Miss Joan follows him just like a dog. Dear, dear--to
think of it!"
"You may well say that, for Copsley Wood's no place for them to be in by
themselves," said Mrs. Grey, eyeing nurse with some disapproval in her
glance.
"It's no place for decent people, let alone children," retorted Perry
in her turn. "It was no further back than yesterday that the butcher's
young man was telling me that a couple of gipsies or tramps have set up
their tent there. He was pressing me to take a walk with him," she
explained, hanging her head and playing with the fringe of baby's shawl;
"and I said as how I'd never been in the wood. 'All the better,' says
Jenkins, quite short, 'because that wood ain't no place for you, nor for
any other nice young lady.' Oh, if they've gone and got kidnapped or
murdered, what ever shall I do!" sobbed Perry, who was really a
well-meaning woman, and good at heart in spite of a certain
narrow-mindedness, not uncommon to her class, which hindered her from
seeing at any time much further than her own nose.
Mrs. Grey had listened to nurse's speech with ill-concealed scorn.
"Young lady indeed!" she said afterwards to Mr. Grey, giving a
contemptuous sniff. "Her a lady--and young too! Why, she's
eight-and-twenty if she's a day! And a lad like Jim Jenkins! Sakes
alive! the conceit o' some folks is sickenin'!"
Then when Perry began to weep and lament, the older woman watched her
curiously in order to make sure how little of her feeling was real, how
much assumed. But such distress was undoubtedly genuine, Mrs. Grey
decided, and her eyes held a kindlier expression as she said
soothingly,--
"Come now, cheer up! Takin' on that way won't do no manner o' good. You
had better hurry home with the baby now. It's gettin' late for him to be
out, pretty dear! Maybe you'll find the other two there before you, and
famishin' for their tea."
"The missis is right," agreed Mr. Grey, rising from the table as he
spoke, and wiping his mouth with a huge, red cotton pocket-handkerchief.
"You get along as fast as ever you can, an' if the young shavers isn't
at Firgrove afore you, send somebody up wi' a message. Then me an' Tom
Brook 'll take a look round; an' if they're anywhere inside Copsley
Wood, we'll bring them home to you afore bedtime yet, I'll be bound."
But when nurse got back to Firgrove, Darby and Joan were still absent;
so, giving Eric in charge to Mary the cook, she sped up the hill again
herself, flying as fast as fear and excitement could urge her, and
reached the farm, panting and breathless, just when Mr. Grey and his
head man, Tom Brook, were putting on their coats and preparing to leave
the barn for the night.
Until almost midnight the two men tramped hither and thither through the
labyrinths of Copsley Wood, carrying the stable lantern to give them
light, armed with stout sticks with which to poke among the dense
undergrowth of laurel, holly, and hazel that formed such a close cover
for the game of various sorts with which the wood was so thickly
populated. Now and then from her form amid the withered fern a
frightened hare leaped among their very feet. Startled rabbits scurried
here and there over the soft moss and rustling leaves. The cry of a
night-bird from time to time broke the intense stillness of the lonesome
place, while more than once they were alarmed by a soft something that
brushed their face, as a big, downy white owl passed them by in search
of its prey. In a dell hidden in the very heart of the wood they came
upon what apparently had been the camping-ground of some wanderers--the
gipsies probably, concerning whom the tales and rumours were so rife and
so exaggerated of late. It must have been used quite recently, for where
the fire had been built the wood ash was white and undisturbed; while
the crusts, bones, and fragments of a rough-and-ready meal still
littered the green turf that spread in such a fresh, delicious carpet
all around the spot. But now the dell was deserted. The feeling of
desolation always conveyed by the sight of a burned-out fire, a forsaken
hearth, struck chilly on Mr. Grey's senses, and he turned away in
disappointment from the tenantless place. Then the two men gazed blankly
into each other's eyes. The children could not be found; not a trace of
them was to be seen, except a small battered shoe--the shoe that Joan
had left behind the preceding Friday.
By this time they were so tired out that they were reluctantly obliged
to give over their search for the night; so, feeling footsore, and
disheartened by their want of success, they went each his own way
homewards.
Mr. Grey was now thoroughly alarmed for the safety of his wife's little
favourites, not knowing what mishap might have overtaken them. As for
nurse, her state of mind was pitiable. She alone had been left in charge
of the children, and she only was responsible to the Misses Turner for
their safety. And what would Captain Dene say--her master, whom she had
solemnly promised to take good care of his motherless children? She had
done her best, poor Perry; for although often impatient and
unsympathetic with the little ones, she loved them devotedly, and would
now willingly have imperilled her own safety to secure theirs. Oh, how
earnestly she wished that Miss Turner and Miss Alice were home again, or
rather that they had not gone away! It was, of course, too late to
communicate with them that night, but it must be done first thing next
morning--as soon as the telegraph office should be open.
"How shall I face them?" cried nurse wildly, pushing cook and baby away
in her impatience.
Cook looked hurt. She had good-naturedly taken care of Eric all evening,
and been much diverted by his funny ways. She had offered the little
fellow to nurse with the best intentions in the world, thinking that
attending to his wants might distract her attention from her trouble.
But nurse was not to be consoled thus. She could think of nothing except
the calamity which had befallen the household in general, herself in
particular, and for the time being baby was of no importance in her
eyes; even the adoring Jenkins was forgotten! Nothing remained but her
own nervous terror and distress.
Next morning, as soon as it was daylight, Mr. Grey hastened down to
Firgrove to inquire if Perry had heard anything of the missing children.
She had not, and was in a most miserable frame of mind after an
anxious, sleepless night.
While she and Mr. Grey stood talking together, Tom Brook passed by on
his way to work at the farm, and seeing the two in conversation, joined
them. But he brought no comfort to their council with the tidings he had
to tell--not much at most, yet important as furnishing a possible clue
to the fate of the lost ones.
The previous forenoon some of his children at play beside the lock had
noticed Master Darby and Miss Joan down along the tow-path; but as they
were accustomed seeing the pair trotting about by themselves
continually, here, there, and everywhere, they paid no particular
attention to their movements.
"They didn't go to Copsley Wood after all, then," said Mr. Grey, looking
very grave, for his fears had been directed into a fresh channel.
"They've gone playing about the canal and fallen in!" cried nurse, with
a great outburst of tears. "Now they're drownded, dead drownded, both of
them! O my poor lambs! why did I let you out of my sight for one minute?
What will master say? O my dear, sweet mistress, this would never have
happened if you hadn't been tooken away from us!"
Miss Turner and Miss Alice were seated at breakfast in Grannie Dene's
pretty parlour, where the China roses, that were for all the world just
the colour of Joan's cheeks, peeped and nodded round the window. They
were chatting briskly with grannie, whom they had found much stronger,
and able easily to move about and attend to the affairs of her small
household, and making their plans for the day. Aunt Catharine was
arranging everything in her usual capable way. Grannie nodded her head
in approval, looking the very picture of a sweet, high-bred old lady;
while Auntie Alice agreed to all her sister suggested, as was her placid
wont. She appeared contented and at ease, yet from time to time an
anxious, far-away look would unconsciously creep into her eyes and
shadow her gentle face when she thought of the little ones at home,
wondering how they were all getting on--whether Eric's new tooth had
come properly through; if Darby was being an obedient boy and taking
good care of Joan.
The click of the garden-gate attracted their attention, and immediately
after a whistling telegraph-boy passed the window and the China roses on
his way to the hall door. Auntie Alice rose from the breakfast-table
with a queer, fluttering feeling about her heart, and hurried to meet
the messenger. She took the rustling, brick-coloured envelope from his
hand, and in another instant the message dictated with much anxiety by
Mr. Grey lay open before the alarmed ladies,--
"Come home at once. Darby and Joan missing since yesterday."
"Oh, my dears, my dears! Sister, sister! why did we leave them?" was the
cry that broke from Auntie Alice's trembling lips. It was but the
expression of a nameless dread which had weighed upon her ever since she
started from Firgrove, leaving Darby standing looking after them, with
that expression in his eyes of such perfect purity and peace.
Grannie's thoughts flashed like lightning from the lost children to the
absent father. She was not a woman of many words, and made little
outward sign of the sorrow that had suddenly seized upon her. She just
hid her patient face in her thin white hands, murmuring brokenly,--
"Oh, Guy, Guy! my son, my son!"
"Well, I declare! One would think those two had never got into a scrape
before from the way you are going on," said Miss Turner sharply,
addressing her sister, yet casting a glance of disapproval in the
direction of Mrs. Dene. "It was only the other day that they went
wandering into Copsley Wood; and here, when we were ready to set out in
search of them, didn't they turn up as cool as you please, smiling as
sweetly as a couple of cherubs! Mr. Grey is alarming us needlessly. He
and his wife are perfectly silly about those children! It was exactly
the same when Guy was a boy. He had nothing to do but run up to Mrs.
Grey for petting and sympathy whenever he made things too hot for
himself at Firgrove. Well, if Darby has disobeyed me this time, after
all I said, and the Catechism and everything, I won't be so soft with
him in future, that's certain!" declared Aunt Catharine, in her severest
voice; yet her fresh-coloured face had grown pale, her eyes were
troubled, her lips trembled. In her heart of hearts she wished she had
not been quite so strict with her nephew's children, Darby
especially--poor Dorothy Archdale's motherless little lad.
It was afternoon by the time the ladies arrived at Firdale, the small
wayside station nearest to Firgrove. Mr. Grey had forsaken his farm and
his threshing, and was waiting to receive them. But one glance at his
honest face was sufficient to assure them that he was not the bearer of
any good news. Nothing further had been heard of the missing children.
Copsley Wood had been scoured by a band of beaters from end to end, with
no better success than had attended the efforts of the two men the night
before. Mr. Grey's thoughts had reverted again and again to the
ill-favoured man and black-browed woman--gipsies they were said to be,
but more likely they were only ordinary vagrants--who had been seen
lately loitering about the neighbourhood, and whose appearance had given
rise to the wildest and absurdest rumours. One cottager, it was said,
had lost all her hens; another missed a young pig out of its sty, while
the ailing infant of a third had died in convulsions soon after the
dark-faced female was at the door demanding a draught of milk! Mrs. Grey
had suggested that perhaps the evil pair had kidnapped the pretty
children, meaning to make use of them in some way--for such things
happened, if one was to believe all that appeared in the newspapers--or
in order to draw a reward out of their friends. Her husband laughed at
the idea; yet he caused the tramps to be traced and followed from their
deserted quarters in the wood up to the time when they had forced their
way, as the bargeman affirmed, on board the barge-boat close beside the
village of Shendon. They had no youngsters with them then of any
description, bargee was positive; just the man and woman by themselves.
They were not gipsies at all, he added, but some sort of play-acting
people journeying to join their party, who had preceded them to
Barchester by a few days. Folks of that class were not likely to have
had a hand in the disappearance of anybody's children; they usually had
plenty of their own.
The ladies discussed the ins and outs of the odd affair with Mr. Grey in
all its bearings. At length they were forced to the conclusion that it
was in the region of the canal they must seek the little ones--whether
about it or in it only time should tell. Miss Alice wept softly, while
Miss Turner was wondering, with a terrible weight on her heart, what she
should say in the cablegram to Africa; for if Darby and Joan did not
turn up, and soon too, she knew that their father should have to be
informed of the calamity which had befallen him.
Mr. Grey hurried home to snatch a hasty meal and tell his wife not to be
anxious about his absence. Then he and Tom Brook, with two other men,
set off to follow the clue furnished by Tom Brook's children. At
Firgrove the household waited, eager for news, with what patience they
could command, and they needed a good share; for waiting, as everybody
knows, is wearier work than doing.
Step by step, two of them on one side and two on the other, they tramped
along the course of the canal, poking with their sticks into the long,
sedgy grass and reeds beside its banks, peering among the clumps of
osiers that grew thick and tall in the damp, spongy ground below the
tow-path. On, on they went, only pausing for a few minutes now and
again, to take a rest or to hold a consultation. They questioned closely
every pedestrian whom they met by the way, but nobody could give them
any tidings to help them in their search. And still they pressed on,
past locks, hamlets, villages--on, on, until, when night was closing in
around them, they reached Barchester. There, perforce, they must pause;
for beyond Barchester was the sea, so at Barchester the canal came to an
abrupt conclusion.
It was a weary and dispirited little group that gathered on the wharf in
the fast-falling darkness of the October evening. The other men, as well
as Mr. Grey, had known Captain Dene from his infancy almost, and two of
them had little ones of their own snug and safe by their cottage hearths
at that dull evening hour. They consequently felt keenly the sorrow that
threatened the absent father; also the distress and trouble of the aunts
at Firgrove, who had so generously taken upon them the responsible duty,
which not infrequently turns out a thankless task, of taking charge of
somebody else's bairns.
The wharf, except for themselves, was deserted. It was almost dark, too,
lighted only by one badly-trimmed paraffin lamp that swung above the
door of the room or office which the keeper occupied during the day. Its
flickering rays fell on the deep, sluggish waters of the canal as they
lapped and gurgled round the wet, slimy beams on which the planks were
supported. Mr. Grey stood somewhat apart from the others, and gazed idly
at the shadows cast by the dimly-burning lamp, as they swayed backwards
and forwards, up and down, with each slow movement of the water; yet he
did not actually see anything. He was thinking of the winsome wee pair
whom he had come upon a few days before sitting on a tree-stump in
Copsley Wood--of their trusting eyes, their sweet voices, their artless
prattle, their firm faith in the protecting power of their heavenly
Father. Assuredly He had them in His careful keeping some place; but
where?--on earth or in heaven? This was the question which so sorely
perplexed the anxious searchers.
Suddenly something attracted Mr. Grey's attention--something that had
got jammed in a space between two rotten beams which floated alongside
the flooring of the crazy old wharf--and his heart leaped in his breast
with a throb of sickening fear. He stooped over the water, reached
forward his stout staff, and with its hooked head carefully hauled up
that something which he instinctively shrank from seeing, without
exactly knowing why.
Yet it was nothing much after all, neither more nor less than what may
be seen any day drifting hither and thither amongst scraps and straws
upon the surface of a stream--only a child's sailor-hat, which had once
been white, but was now sadly discoloured, soaked with water, and
hanging almost in pieces. A faded blue ribbon dangled from its battered
brim, bearing on its surface in tarnished gold letters the title of the
ship to which its wearer belonged--H.M.S. _Dreadnought_.
With a queer choking in his throat Mr. Grey carried his find close to
what light there was beneath the dirty lamp, while with strained, eager
faces the other men peered over his shoulder, and then, sure enough,
they saw what they feared. For there, inside the hat, stitched to the
lining of the crown by a careful mother's loving fingers, was a piece of
tape on which a name was plainly written, the name of--Darby Dene!