The doctor, tireless, was directing someone, somewhere throughout all the anxious hours. With frightened, sobbing little Lois in his arms, he had walked the floor, soothing, comforting, until she forgot her fears and slept.
Fires were kept up, hot blankets in readiness, steaming drinks and food for the exhausted searchers were always ready.
Everywhere people listened, longed, prayed for the signal agreed upon, the ringing of the church bells that would tell them Dorothy Douglas was safe.
VI.
CHRISTMAS CANDLES.
Morning dawned, but no slightest trace of the little wanderer had been found. Many of those who had toiled all night stood in groups talking.
“It was a wild night,” said one.
“The wires are down and trains stalled,” said another.
“It seems as though we had done everything we could, and yet one hardly knows how to stop, to just sit and wait,” mourned Mr. Wright, the minister. He was white and worn with the anxiety of the night and he made no effort to hide his tears. He, like many others, loved Dorothy Douglas. “She is as dear to me as my own child,” he said earnestly.
“It was in that blinding storm that she probably was bewildered and walked no one knows how far.”
“I cannot understand why we found no trace of the dog; he would have made an effort to get help. No one seems to have heard him even bark or howl.”