"Half a second," said I, turning and whistling. "Which baby?"
"There," said Adèle, pointing. "With the golden hair."
A half-naked sun-kissed child regarded us with a shy smile. It was impossible not to respond....
Again I turned and whistled.
"Where can he be?" said Adèle anxiously.
"Oh, he always turns up," I said. "But, if you don't mind going back a little way, it'll save time. With all this noise..."
We went back a little way. Then we went back a long way. Then we asked people if they had seen a little white dog with a black patch. Always the answer was in the negative. One man laughed and said something about "a dog in a fair," and Fear began to knock at my heart. I whistled until the muscles of my lips ached. Adèle wanted us to search separately, but I refused. It was not a place for her to wander alone. Feverishly we sought everywhere. Twice a white dog sent our hopes soaring, only to prove a stranger and dash them lower than before. Round and about and in and out among the booths and swings and merry-go-rounds we hastened, whistling, calling and inquiring in vain. Nobby was lost.
We had intended to be home in time for tea.
As it was, we got back to White Ladies, pale and dejected, at a quarter to eight.