They came to the small unpretentious cabin. The door stood wide open, and the shaggy old dog was stretched on the doorstep, dozing. No soul was to be seen.
"Where is the child, Britta? Why, she must have been carried off. She could not walk any distance."
The dog gave a wise look and flicked her ear. Lalotte searched every nook.
"Where could she have gone?" in dismay.
"Let the child alone. What is she to us? Does Jean Arlac stay awake nights with trouble in his conscience about her? She was not his wife's child and so nothing to him. What more is she to us? Come, get some supper; I've not tasted such fried fish in an age as yours last night."
"The fish about here has a fine flavor, that is true. Those imps of boys, and not a stick of wood handy. Their skins shall be well warmed; just wait until I get at them."
"Nay, I will get some wood. I am hungry as a bear in the thaw, when he crawls out."
But Lalotte, armed with a switch, began a survey of the garden. The work had been neglected, that was plain. There under a clump of bushes lay Pani, sleeping, with no fear of retribution on his placid face. And Lalotte put in some satisfactory work before he even stirred.
But he knew nothing of his compeer, only they had been down to the river together. As for the child, when he returned she was gone.
"Let the child alone, I say!" and Antoine brought his fist heavily down on the table. "Next thing you will be begging that we take her. Since the good Lord in His mercy has refrained from giving us any mouths to feed, we will not fly in His face for those who do not concern us. And the puling thing would die on the journey and have to be left behind to feed the wolves. Come! come! Attend to thy supper."