Miss Mouse and Her Boys Part 21

She trotted on--straight on, as Bob had directed, and before very long she came to the little hollow with the clump of bushes in the centre which he had described. But there was no Bob there, and at first her heart went down a little--supposing he had not been able to come, supposing the people he owed the money to had refused after all to wait till to-morrow morning, and had done something dreadful--put him in prison, perhaps, for Miss Mouse's ideas as to what might or might not be done to people, poor boys especially, who owed money, were very vague, or gone to frighten old Nance--oh dear, dear, what a pity it was, thought the little girl, that she had not taken her purse and all her riches with her to Weadmere that afternoon. Then she might have given Bob the six shillings at once, and not run any risk of delay, or have needed to come out to meet him in the--yes, it was almost getting to be the dark--and Rosamond gave a little shiver. But at that moment a welcome sound fell on her ears--the sound of rapidly running feet. She heard the boy before she saw him, but he it was. A small dark figure, darker than the dusky ground, soon became visible, running as fast as he could, and, as soon as he caught sight of her, calling out breathlessly, 'O miss, O miss, have you been waiting long?' and as soon as he came nearer, out poured a torrent of explanations as to how they had kept him waiting and waiting for the things he had been at Weadmere to fetch for the 'missus' at the farm where he worked.

'Well, never mind now,' said sensible Miss Mouse, 'I've got the money all right. Here it is, Bob, just exactly six shillings. I did it up into a little packet inside my purse, but you can count it if you like.'

'No, no, thank you, miss,' said the boy. 'I'm sure it's all right, and as like's not if we undid it, it'd drop out, and we'd have hard work to find it again in this brushwood. No, it's sure to be all right--and I'll never be able to thank you enough, that I won't, not if I live to be as old as gran herself.'

He was intensely grateful, there was no mistake about that, and already the little girl felt rewarded for the sacrifice she had made. Bob was evidently anxious too to get off, as he was still carrying the packages he had been to fetch, having come by this very roundabout way from the town, and he was anxious, too, to get 'miss' home, for fear of her being 'scolded' through what she had so kindly done for him.

They turned to go.

'I wish you could come home with me, Bob,' said Rosamond, 'it does look so dark. I don't mind here or on the road. It's the bit of lane that's so dark.'

Bob looked about and considered.

'I'm afraid I just dursn't go round by your place, miss,' he said. 'I must run all the way or the missus'll be terrible put out, though----'

'No, no,' interrupted the little lady. 'I wouldn't let you. Why, it would be worse than owing the money for the ferrets if you got scolded and lost your place perhaps----'

'I have it,' exclaimed the boy. 'If you don't mind comin' out a bit farther up the road, you needn't have no lane at all. And I daresay it'll be quicker in the end, for you'd almost have to _feel_ your way along the lane by now--it is a very dark bit, I know. And I can run with you till I put you on the straight path to the road.'

'Oh yes,' said Rosamond gladly, 'I'd far rather do that. Come along quick then, Bob.'

He set off, running, though not nearly as fast as before, in front of her, looking back every moment or two to see if she was following all right. Neither spoke, as Rosamond did not want to waste either her own or her companion's breath.

'I shall have to run as fast as ever I can when I get on to the smooth road,' she thought.

So for upwards of a quarter of a mile the two trotted on in silence, till Bob pulled up.

'Miss,' he said, 'this is where I have to turn.' As a matter of fact he had been out of his way till now. 'If you go straight on, you can't miss now. See,' and he pointed before him in the gloom, 'the hedge stops a bit farther on, and there's a clear piece of gra.s.s on to the road.'

'Ye-es,' said Miss Mouse, peering before her, 'I think I see.'

'Anyway you'll see it all right as soon as you come to it, and you go straight till then.'

'Yes, yes,' said Rosamond, anxious to see him off. 'Take care of the money, Bob, and the first time we go to see your grandmother I shall expect to hear from you that it's all right. Now, run off as fast as you can and I will too.'

He started at a good pace, and as Miss Mouse trotted in the opposite direction, from time to time she looked over her shoulder, till the ever-lessening black speck that she knew to be Bob had altogether melted into the gloom. Bob's eyes were keener than hers; as he ran, he too kept glancing backwards to watch the little figure of the child towards whom his wild but true heart was bursting with grat.i.tude. He distinguished her for some distance, and when he lost sight of her it seemed to be rather suddenly, and for a moment or two, hurried though he was, he stood still with a slight misgiving.

'I saw her half a minute ago,' he thought. 'She must have set to running very fast. I hope nothing's wrong. She can't have fallen and hurt herself,' and at the mere idea he had to put force on himself not to rush back again to see. 'Oh no, it can't be that--why, if she'd hurt herself, she'd have called out and I'd have heard her. It's got so still--and oh, my, it's cold. I shouldn't wonder if it started snowing before morning.'

And off set Bob again, with a lighter heart than if he had yielded to his impulse and run back, setting his 'missus's' scolding at defiance, to see that no misadventure had happened to his generous little lady.

Alas! this was what had happened--in the gloom, fast turning into night, even out here on the open ground it was impossible to see clearly where one was going. It was even more dangerous in a sense than if it had been quite dark, for then Miss Mouse would have stepped more cautiously. But as all was open before her she ran fearlessly, forgetting that here and there across the white sandy path the low-growing little plants which mingled with the heather and bracken sent a trail across to the other side, in which nothing was easier than to catch one's foot. Once or twice she nearly did so, but no harm coming of it, she paid no attention to the momentary trip up, and ran on again fearlessly, even faster than before. So that when a worse catch came--a long, st.u.r.dy branch sprawling right across, which clutched at the dainty little foot, refusing to let it go--she fell, poor darling, with a good deal of violence, twisting her ankle as she did so in a way which hurt her terribly. At first she thought she had broken her leg, but the pain went off a little after she had lain still for a few minutes, and she began to take heart again and managed to get up. It was really not a bad sprain--scarcely a sprain at all--but she was tired and cold and a little frightened, for it was now so dark, and the fall had jarred her all over; her head felt giddy and confused.

What happened was not, I think, to be wondered at--poor Miss Mouse took a wrong path, and instead of keeping straight on in the line Bob had started her, she turned, without knowing it, almost directly sideways.

For two of the little paths crossed each other, as ill-luck would have it, close to where she had fallen.

Her ankle was not so very painful; with care not to turn her foot in one particular way, she found she could hobble on pretty well. But, oh dear, how far off the road seemed! And Bob had told her she would reach it in a few minutes. And _how_ cold it was--were those flakes of snow falling on her face? She wished now that she had called out very loudly when she fell-- Bob might have heard her; but she had been afraid of getting him into great trouble at the farm if he had run back to her and made himself so late. Now she began to feel as if that wouldn't have mattered--Uncle Ted would have put it right somehow for him--nothing would matter much if she _could_ but get to the road and know that home was straight before her. Perhaps some cart would come past and she would get the man to stop and take her in--for oh, she _was_ so tired! She walked more and more slowly, and at last--

[Ill.u.s.tration: AND--WERE THOSE SNOW-FLAKES AGAIN?]

'I _must_ sit down and rest for a minute,' she thought, 'even if it is cold, and p'raps if I can unfasten my boot, it wouldn't hurt so.'

Yes--it was delicious to sit still, even for a minute, and--were those snow-flakes again, or leaves? No--it couldn't be leaves; there were no trees about here--how stupid of her to think--to think what? Of course it couldn't be leaves, or flakes--she was in bed. They--they couldn't get in through the window, could they? She must be dreaming--how silly she was--how----

'What is the matter? What do you say?' asked Mr. Hervey that evening about eight o'clock, when, with a startled face, the footman came into the drawing-room, where he and Mrs. Hervey and the three elder boys were sitting.

'It's a groom from Caryll Place, if you please, sir,' the man replied.

'They've sent over to say as Miss Rosamond, little Miss Caryll, can't be found, and do the young gentlemen know anything about it?'

All the Herveys started to their feet, with different exclamations of distress.

'_Rosamond_, little Rosamond,' cried Mrs. Hervey.

'Miss Mouse _lost_!' exclaimed the boys, while Mr. Hervey went to the door, and called to the Caryll Place groom, who was standing, anxious and uneasy, at the door which led to the offices.

'What's all this?' he inquired.

The man came forward and told all there was to tell. Miss Rosamond had been at Weadmere with Mrs. Caryll that afternoon, had driven home, had her tea as usual, etc. All that we know already. But when the time came for her to be dressed to go down to the dining-room, she was not to be found. They had searched the house through, thinking she might be playing some trick, though it wasn't like her to do so; then the grounds, making inquiries at the cottages about--all in vain; and now he had been sent off here with some hope--what, he did not know--that at Moor Edge he might hear something.

'Of course not,' Mr. Hervey replied impatiently, for he was very troubled and it made him cross, 'we should not have kept her here without sending word at once.'

He glanced at the boys--they were all three standing there, pale-faced and open-mouthed, Archie on the point of tears.

'Go back at once, and say we know nothing,' Mr. Hervey went on, 'but that I am following with Mr. Justin to help in the search.'

'Papa, papa, mayn't we come too?' Pat and Archie entreated, but their father shook his head, and in five minutes he and Jus were off in the dog-cart to Caryll.

Justin was very silent.

'Can you think of anywhere she can be?' asked his father, 'or any explanation? The child can't be stolen--what good would it do any one to steal her?'

Justin was in some ways a slow-witted boy.

'I can't think of anything, I'm sure,' he said. But a confused feeling was working at the back of his mind. _Could_ it have anything to do with Bob and the ferrets? He knew that Bob was getting anxious as to paying the rest of the money, though he did not know how bad this anxiety had become--he knew, too, that he himself had been selfish and to some extent deceitful in the matter. But he could not see clearly how the two troubles could be mixed up, so he put the idea out of his mind, not sorry to do so--that was Justin's way.

'No, I can't think of anything,' he repeated.

It had been snowing lightly, and now again a few flakes began to fall.

'Do you think it's coming on to snow, papa?' he inquired, partly to change the subject, partly because it came into his mind--for he was not a heartless boy--that _if_ Miss Mouse was lost anywhere out of doors a snowstorm would certainly not mend matters.

Mr. Hervey looked up with some anxiety.

'No,' he said, 'I think not, and I certainly hope not if that poor child is by any chance out of doors.'

They were soon at Caryll Place. Here all was miserable anxiety, for so far no traces of the poor little girl were to be found, though there were men out in all directions. Mr. Caryll had been out some distance himself, but had just come back for a moment to see Aunt Mattie before driving off to Weadmere to speak to the police. Aunt Mattie, choking down her tears, repeated to Justin's father all there was to tell--how Miss Mouse must have gone out of her own accord, as her warm cloak and cap were missing, and how she had evidently not wanted any one to know, adding, 'The _only_ thing at all unusual to-day was our meeting Bob Crag in the town, and Rosamond may have been talking to him while I was in the shop. _Can_ he have anything to do with it? Justin, you know him well?'

She looked keenly at Justin, and she fancied he grew red. He hesitated before answering.