It was Lizzie Pezzack, panting and bareheaded, with a scared face.
“He’s lame—you’d know en. Have ’ee got en there? He’s wandered off!”
“Hush up, woman,” said a bearer. “Don’t keep such a pore!”
“The cheeld’s right enough somewheres,” said another. “’Tis a man’s body we’ve got. Stand out of the way, for shame!”
But Lizzie, who as a rule shrank away from men and kept herself hidden, pressed nearer, turning her tragical face upon each in turn. Her eyes met George’s, but she appealed to him as to the others.
“He’s wandered off. Oh, say you’ve seen en, somebody!”
Catching sight of Taffy, she ran and gripped him by the arm.
“You’ll help! It’s my Joey. Help me find en!”
He turned half about, and almost before he knew what he sought his eyes met George’s. George stepped quietly to his side.
“Let me get my mare,” said George, and walked away toward the light-house railing where he had tethered her.