For some reason, his book was unusually dull, and out from its pages the face of Gyp kept laughing up at him, just as it had laughed down at him on Thanksgiving morning, when he lay on the sofa and she told him her wonderful story of the duck. All at once Leon threw down his book excitedly. Strange he hadn’t thought of it before! She had probably gone to see old Jerry. He recalled how interested she had been in his blue door and his crow. That was doubtless the secret of the matter. For a moment he rejoiced in the suggestion; but then he remembered that he was alone in the house, for even the servants had joined in the search. Careless of his foot, he sprang up and started for the door, thinking to go himself; but a dozen reckless steps convinced him that such a proceeding was impossible, and with an irrepressible moan of pain, he threw himself on his bed and clasped his ankle in both hands. There he lay for a long hour, forgetting his throbbing, aching foot while he listened for any sound from below, and meanwhile glancing out, from time to time, at the heavy flakes of snow which were beginning to whiten the air. What would become of Gyp, he wondered. It was more than four miles to the old man’s house, a long walk for a little child, and the road through the thick woods and along by the lake was lonely, even to a grown person. He fancied he could see the small figure trudging wearily along, now and then starting at some unexpected sound, and throwing an affrighted glance back over her shoulder. And what if, as was highly probable, Jerry should be away from home? Any one who has been anxious, alone and in pain, will realize how rapidly Leon’s fears increased, and understand the relief he felt when steps and voices were heard on the piazza below. He rose and, though the pain in his ankle turned his very lips white, he went to the window, threw it open, and called loudly,—
“Who’s there? Come to fifteen!”
He waited for a moment until he heard the steps coming up the stairs; then he closed the window and dropped into the nearest chair, just as Harry, Louis and Stanley came into the room.
“Did you find her?” he asked impatiently, while they shook the snow from their shoulders and looked at him inquiringly, too breathless to speak.
“Not yet,” said Louis. “We thought there were too many of us together, so we came back to see if there was any news, and if not, to start out again.”
“What do you want of us, Leon?” added Harry. “Tell us quick, for we don’t want to lose any time.”
“I think she’s gone to find Jerry,” answered Leon, and then, while the boys rubbed their blue, cold fingers, he went on to tell them his reasons for such a supposition.
“I shouldn’t wonder if you were right,” said Stanley, when they had heard him out. “It’s a good idea, and we’ll start for there, straight. Between the wind and the snow, it’s an awful day, and the child must be found soon, or she’ll freeze. But what makes you look so queer, Leon?”
“Nothing, only I hurt my foot a little. Never mind me, but go along. Bother my ankle! I wish I could go with you.”
“What crazy thing have you been doing, Leon?” demanded Harry sternly. “If you’ve twisted your ankle again, it will be no joke. You know what the doctor said.”