“We none on us know; Pepper (that was the name of the horse) has been down.”
Mr. Jamblin wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
“Bin down, and Mr. Philip not here,” he ejaculated. Then turning to his men he said, in a voice of thunder—
“Look here, men; what be the yoose o’ yer standing here like a set o’ stockfish? Ye’ve got eyes and legs I ’spose; why don’t some on ye start off and see if ye can find your young master?”
“We’ll go at once,” cried several, simultaneously.
“I have not a morsel of doubt as to the road he would take,” exclaimed the farmer. “He came from Brickett’s, and would pass through Dennett’s-lane, and then reach Larchgrove-road. Go, some on ’ee, at once in that direction.”
Four of the men at once went in search of their young master. They carried lanterns, which, as they advanced steadily and cautiously along the road, swayed like the censers of priests above the altar.
The clouds had by this time melted away; the moon and stars shone brightly.
The rustics passed on till they reached the end of Larchgrove-road. Here they turned down, and as they entered the shadows of this cheerless place a cold chill fell upon them, for they seemed to feel that it was like entering a churchyard at midnight.
“I dun’no what to mek of it,” said one. “The cob might have shied at summut, but Mr. Philip aint easily throwed.”