Tom gave a sort of grunt of assent.
“And the baby so ill! Mother doubts if he will live over the night! I am glad that you found the doctor so soon. But what can have become of dear little Johnny? The Barnes and the Smiths have been all on the search; they say that if the wind had not been blowing the dust so much along the lane, the little fellow might have been tracked by his footsteps. No one can imagine where he can have gone,—he is so very young,—so unable to wander far. Poor Polly! I am so sorry for her!”
“I wish that you would not be talking for ever about Johnny!” exclaimed Tom in a petulant tone.
“How can one think or talk of anything else?” replied Minnie sadly,—“I did so love that noble boy!”
“Have done with it!” cried her brother, more angrily than before.
Minnie looked at him with pain, and then said in a low tone, “I thought that you had even joined in the search.”
“I have joined,—I would give anything to find him!” exclaimed Tom, striking his hand on the table as he spoke, with such passionate energy that he almost startled his sister.
“Did you see nothing of the dear child,” said Minnie, as a thought suddenly occurred to her, “when you came to our cottage,—just before you went for the doctor, you know?”
“Didn’t I tell you that I wanted to hear no more about the matter!” cried Tom, his whole face becoming the colour of crimson.
Minnie’s eyes were fixed upon him, steadily, earnestly; rude, bold boy as he was, he shrank from her piercing gaze. Going nearer to her brother, and speaking very distinctly, but in a voice hardly above a whisper, she said, “I believe that you know more about Johnny than you will tell.”