“I will,” and that very evening she told Mr. M’Clean the story.
“It might be worth while,” he said, “though perhaps it would not. Land is plentiful, and if there should be any trouble, I would not advise you to get into it.”
“I know land is plentiful, but this is a cleared farm, with a good house on it. My grandfather was killed by the Indians, and this is his place which now belongs to my mother, to be had for the taking.”
“Then come with us, and I will help you to your rights if it is to be done.”
“But my father—if he should come back?”
Joseph M’Clean laid his hand gently upon the child’s auburn hair. “Ye can scarce expect it, for we’ve searched for him and he’s not to be found.”
Agnes choked back the sob that rose in her throat. “I know,” she said bravely, “but I am not going to give up hope. He may be lying wounded somewhere, and I am going to look for him myself. I feel sure I could find him if he is to be found.”
“Ye’re a brave lass, Nancy,” said the man, his own eyes moist. “I’ll go with ye, lass. It’s a rough country we’re in, and ye are not to go alone. We’ll start another search for your father, for maybe, as you say, he’s wounded and can’t get here by himself.”
Agnes looked up at him gratefully, for his was the first encouragement she had received that day.
“It’ll be a rough tramp for ye, and maybe a dangerous one,” said Jimmy O’Neill the next day, as he saw Agnes ready to accompany the search party. “There’s Archie and Joe M’Clean besides mesel’, and we’ll not lave a stone unturned.”