"She's not there," he said aloud, gazing over the uninteresting expanse. He turned back into Littleburgh, to call at cottage after cottage where his mother was known, and where she might have gone. But nobody could tell him any news of Mrs. Stuart. He returned home once more, only to find the door still locked, and nobody to welcome him.
Archie's trouble was becoming now very real indeed. He went at last to the Dunns, and told his story; and Nancy's face of sympathy brought the first scrap of comfort.
"I'll go with you, lad," Dunn said at once. "We'll hunt till we find her—please God. But you'll take a mouthful of something to eat first."
Archie did not feel as if he could eat—till he tried. Then he found how much he had been in need of refreshment. While hastily disposing of what was put before him, he recounted what he had already done.
"That's right. You're looking more up to the mark now," said Dunn. "I'll tell you what, lad—my wife shall go to your house, and make up the kitchen fire, and see that there's boiling water against it's wanted. And you and I'll go and take a look at the brick-fields."
"But what's the use? Why, she'd never dream of staying alone there all this while," protested Archie.
"Maybe not. Best to make sure, any way," said Dunn. "She was seen to go there, and she wasn't seen to come back. And where else can she be?"
Archie shook his head.
"You see, now! Best to make sure," repeated Dunn. "She may be all right and safe in somebody's house. But if she did take a fancy to go into the brick-fields, why, she might have tumbled down somewhere and stunned herself. I don't see why not. Are there any sort of deep holes or quarries anywhere about?"
"Nothing of the sort," averred Archie. "It's all flat."