THEODORE'S DISAPPEARANCE.
WE must now revert to the time when, having finished her task
of darning the boys' stockings, Jane had gone downstairs, expecting
to have found Theodore and Jack waiting for her to take them for a
walk. At first she had believed they were on the premises, probably
hiding for fun; but on paying a visit to the kitchen, she had
discovered how they had begged cake of Mrs. Fry, saying they were
going to have a picnic by themselves, and how the farmer had seen
them hurrying away together. She had felt vexed, but had not been
in the least anxious on their account; and having realised the folly
of trying to find the truants, had spent the afternoon in her own
room, employed in needlework for herself. When tea-time had not
brought the boys back to the farm, however, she had been seriously
annoyed with them; but on Mr. and Mrs. Barton's return, at seven
o'clock, her annoyance had given place to direst alarm. In a few
words she explained that the boys had gone off without allowing her
to know their intentions, and that she had never suspected them of
any secret purpose until she found them missing. Mr. Barton had
immediately paid a visit to the village, but the boys had not been
seen there during that day. When darkness had come on, a search-party
had been organised, in which Seth Stanley and several others had
joined. The blacksmith, remembering the many questions Theodore had
put to him concerning the Hermit's Cave, had started to look for the
boys in that spot; whilst the other searchers had disappeared in
different directions; and Mr. Barton, in company with Mr. Fry, had
driven off to make enquiries in the neighbouring villages. The two
latter had been returning to Blackburn Farm after a fruitless quest,
when they had met little Jack, and had learned from him of Theodore's
terrible plight.
"The poor child must be caught in a fox-trap!" Mr. Barton exclaimed
in tones of dismay. "What do you think, Fry?" he asked his companion.
Mr. Fry agreed with Mr. Barton that what Jack called a "trap with
such dreadful teeth" would most probably be a fox-gin, and asked Jack
to explain where he had left his brother. The farmer knew the cottage
well, so the two men took Jack between them in the gig, and drove
away as fast as old Boxer could go.
Very few words were spoken, for Mr. Barton was far too concerned
about Theodore to ask Jack any questions. Once he said, "My poor boy!
my poor Theodore!" and Mr. Fry urged Boxer to increase his speed.
Jack had now somewhat regained his composure, so that when they
arrived at the little white-washed cottage he was able to point out
the spot where he had left Theodore. The two men got over the hedge,
leaving Jack in the gig, with Help in charge, for Boxer's master knew
he was to be trusted not to move a step until he returned to him.
Jack shook with suspense and suppressed excitement as he listened
to the voices of the others. How would they find Theodore? They were
longer than he expected; and presently, being unable to bear the
uncertainty any longer, he stood up in the gig to try and look over
the hedge; but he could only see the lantern which Mr. Fry was
carrying.
"Father!" he said nervously; "oh, father, do tell me Theodore is not
dead!"
"Theodore is not here," was the amazing answer, in his stepfather's
voice, which sounded full of bewilderment and anxiety.
"Oh, father, he must be! I am sure that is the right place!" cried
Jack, in an agony of terror. "Oh, he must be there!"
"No, he is not. We have found the gin, but some one has been
before us. Theodore is not here."
"Perhaps he opened the trap himself," Jack suggested, although he
knew that was most unlikely.
"Quite impossible," Mr. Barton responded. "Wait where you are, Jack.
We are going to make a thorough search."
Jack sat down again, his mind in a whirl of confusion. Theodore gone!
It was marvellous! At any rate, he had been released from the
dreadful trap; there was comfort to be found in that thought,
at least.
Meanwhile, Mr. Barton and the farmer were holding a consultation
on the other side of the hedge. They had found the cruel gin, which
had evidently been set to entrap a fox, should one be tempted
to visit the hen's roost, with its teeth wide apart, bearing witness
to the truth of Jack's story by the blood stains upon it. There were
marks of nailed boots near the place, and the hedge had been broken
down at the top, as though some heavy person had climbed it.
One thing was certain, that Theodore was nowhere near; therefore,
it seemed most probable that whoever had released him from the trap
had conveyed him away by road.
"The poor boy must have suffered agonies," Mr. Barton said in a
tremulous tone as he examined the gin. "What a ghastly instrument
of torture it is! I thought it was illegal to set these things?"
The farmer said it was, but added that it was nevertheless often done
by poultry-keepers.
The owner of the cottage was an old man, a bachelor, who lived alone—
Peter Blake by name. Mr. Fry knew him well, but could not imagine
why he was away from home, as he most evidently was.
"I do not see what more we can do," Mr. Barton said at length, with a
sigh. "Theodore could not have freed himself from the gin; so whoever
released him will doubtless see he has shelter for the night. Jack
saw no one from the time he left here till he met us; but some one
must have come by way of one of the cross-roads. That some one may
have been driving, too, and would most likely take Theodore to
Blackburn Farm. I think, Fry, our wisest plan will be to drive right
home. It may be we shall find news of Theodore awaiting our return,
even if he himself is not there. Let us start at once."
The farmer agreed to this plan. A few minutes later Boxer was again
trotting towards Blackburn Farm. No doubt the old horse thought
of his comfortable stable and supper of oats, for he exerted himself
to trot his fastest, as though he had not already had a long journey
that day.
Mr. Barton was intensely anxious about Theodore, though he tried
to reassure his little stepson, who was trembling with apprehension
of he knew not what.
"If only we could tell where he was," Jack whispered in a tearful
voice. "You don't think he can have wandered away, and got lost in a
bog, do you, father?"
"No, no; that is impossible! He has found a friend—or rather,
a friend has found him."
"I don't think God would let any one hurt Theo," Jack said earnestly,
"although He did let him get caught in that trap. Oh, I shall never
forget it!" And he hid his eyes against Mr. Barton's sleeve,
shuddering at the remembrance of Theodore's white face and closed
eyes. "Is mother very frightened?" he asked presently.
"Yes, and Jane too!" Mr. Barton answered. "What made you boys go off
without a word to any one, as you did?"
"We wanted to find the Hermit's Cave, and to pretend we were
explorers. Oh, it was fine fun until we got lost!" and he proceeded
to give an account of the afternoon and evening's adventures.
Mr. Barton's blood ran cold in his veins as the little boy spoke
of the will-o'-the-wisps and the bog, whilst Mr. Fry, who was usually
the most stolid of men, and rarely spoke except in response to a
question, was moved to remark that it was a wonder Jack was there
to tell the tale, seeing how near he must have been to one of the
most dangerous spots on Dartmoor, which had proved fatal to unwary
travellers on several occasions. Arrived at Blackburn Farm, they were
surrounded by an excited group before they had time to get down
from the gig.
"Here's Jack quite safe," Mr. Barton said immediately, "but have you
seen or heard anything of Theodore?"
"No." What did Mr. Barton mean? Was not Theodore with him? Had not
the boys been found together?
In a few brief words he explained that he had hoped to get news of
his little son on his return, for he had not found him. As he sprang
to the ground, and stood in the midst of the group, his wife came
forward, and caught him by the arm, imploring him to tell what had
happened, and why Theodore was not with him.
"Your boy is all right, Mary," he said gently. "See, there he is
in Mr. Fry's arms! He's a bit done up, but no harm has come to him."
As soon as the farmer placed Jack on the ground, he ran to his
mother's side. She turned to him and kissed him with tender
affection, thanking God in her heart for her darling's safety.
"Come into the house, Mary," Mr. Barton said, striving to speak
steadily, but his voice trembled in spite of his efforts to control
it, "and then I'll tell you all I know. I'm in great trouble about
Theodore!"
At that point Jane interposed. She had been standing by
in bewilderment, scarcely realising at first that her master had not
brought home Theodore as well as Jack; but now she came forward
and enquired, in tones of strong emotion:
"Isn't Master Theodore here?"
"No, Jane," Mr. Barton replied. "I hoped you might have had news
of him, but—"
"Where is he?" Jane cried wildly. "You don't mean to tell me
you've left him on the moor—to die maybe! Oh, sir, forgive me if I
forget myself, and speak as I ought not, but Master Theo's dearer
to me than my own life! It was I who took him from his mother's arms,
remember! And during the lonely years which followed, it was I
who loved and cared for him! Oh, if anything has happened to him—"
"Hush, Jane!" Mr. Barton interrupted in moved tones. "Come inside
with us, like a sensible woman, and we will talk matters over."
He led the way into the house, and into the parlour, where the
household assembled to know what had become of Theodore; and many
were the exclamations of dismay and consternation which greeted his
story of the boys' adventures. When he spoke of Theodore's accident,
Jane could not restrain her grief; she sobbed aloud, and would not be
comforted. But when Jack went to her, and throwing his arms around
her neck, mingled his tears with hers, she seemed to realise the
folly of her behaviour.
"Oh, Master Jack, how wet and muddy you are, and as white as a sheet,
I declare!" she cried, drying her streaming eyes. "I will put you
to bed at once!"
"Yes, please, do," Mrs. Barton said quickly, thinking Jane would be
better for being employed. "Go, Jack, like a good boy! Mrs. Fry will
make you a basin of bread and milk; and I will come to see you after
you are in bed."
Mrs. Fry nodded, and left the room to prepare Jack's supper, whilst
the boy pleaded hard not to be sent to bed yet.
"Oh, let me stay up till Theo comes!" he cried piteously. "Oh,
mother, do! Oh, father, ask her to let me stay up! I can't, I can't
go to bed before Theo comes!"
"You must, my dear," his mother told him gently, but firmly; and Jack
knew from the tone of her voice that she meant to be obeyed.
Mr. Barton had gone to the window, where he had drawn up the blind,
and was now gazing out into the darkness. Jack would have liked
to say good night to his stepfather, but his mother motioned to Jane
to take him away.
He went upstairs with a bursting heart, his eyes full of tears,
his breast heaving with sobs. Jane soon had him in bed; and when she
had induced him to swallow the hot bread and milk which Mrs. Fry
brought up to his room, she insisted on his closing his eyes, and
trying to sleep, whilst she went downstairs to hear if there was any
news of Theodore; and if not, what was being done to discover his
whereabouts. Presently Jack heard his mother's light footsteps in the
room. She came to him, and putting her arms around him, whispered
that he must not grieve, for she was sure God would send Theodore
back to them in safety; and meanwhile they must pray for him, and
hope for the best.
"You should not have made a secret of where you were going,"
she said, with tender reproach in her loving voice; "you must have
known it was not right! See what trouble you boys have brought about!
But I will not scold you now, for you must be almost worn out. Try to
sleep, my darling boy! I hope and believe that Theodore is in safety
somewhere! His father has gone out again in search of him—his poor
father!"
Mrs. Barton's voice broke at the remembrance of the white, shocked
look on her husband's face. She said good night to Jack, kissed him
once more, and turned to leave the room. As she passed Theodore's
empty bed, she paused and gently rearranged the pillows, the tears
which had been in her eyes all the while she had been talking
to Jack, rolling down her cheeks as she thought of the high-spirited
little lad, who was dearer to her than he himself guessed. Then she
quietly left the room, meeting Jane outside the door, who asked
if Jack was asleep yet.
"No," Mrs. Barton replied, "but I believe if we leave him alone
he soon will be. Oh, Jane, don't cry any more! Try to think as I do,
that God will take care of Theodore. I know how dearly you love him,
but don't give way, and anticipate all sorts of misfortunes befalling
him."
"When I think of the dear lamb by himself, with his hand in that gin,
and suffering horribly, as I know he did, it almost breaks my heart!"
Jane declared with a sob; "and now to think he can't be found!"
"But he will be," Mrs. Barton told her reassuringly; "I do really
believe he is in safety now!"
Jane sighed deeply, but she dried her tears. After her mistress had
gone downstairs, she stole softly into Jack's room, and found him
sleeping the heavy sleep of utter exhaustion. She dropped on her
knees by the bedside, and prayed fervently that God would restore her
other little charge to her care. She had forgotten that Theodore
had ever worried her, had ever been troublesome or disobedient;
she remembered only his good qualities, his brave spirit, his warm
loving heart; and it wrung her faithful soul to think of him
lost—disappeared in so short a while, and in such a mysterious way.
"God bless him! God keep him, and send him home again!" were the
words she kept repeating; and presently she arose from her knees,
and went downstairs, her spirit calmed, to await with her mistress
whatever news might come.