"Know what?" queried Barringford, for he saw that something was wrong. "Don't tell me they—they are gone."
Joseph Morris nodded, while his wife turned away and buried her face in her apron.
"Yes, they are gone," answered Rodney, who was the only one who seemed able to speak. "We were out Wednesday, looking for berries and fishing—we had to get something, you know—provisions are so low—and as we couldn't leave Nell and the twins alone, we took them along. I went up the stream a bit, and mother rambled over the field. All at once I heard a terrible scream. I dropped my pole and ran back, and found mother in a faint, with that cut you see on her cheek. Nell and the twins were gone. I yelled for help, and pretty soon half a dozen soldiers came up, and then we started after the Indians. We killed one of the rascals, but the others got away and hid in the forest, and try our best we couldn't get on to their trail."
"And you haven't found them since?" faltered Dave.
"No. We've hunted everywhere, and offered fifty pounds reward. We were out two days and two nights, and I got hit in the shoulder by a bullet, although it didn't amount to much. The Indians took one woman and four children, and I reckon they traveled west as tight as they could go."
"Then the twins are gone!" said Barringford. "Poor Tom and Artie!" And he turned away to hide his emotion.
Dave went over to his aunt and the good woman gave a sob, and rested her head on his youthful shoulder.
"Oh, Dave! Dave!" she moaned. "Poor Nell! Poor, poor Nell!" She could say no more. She had cried many times before, but now her tears started afresh.
"Poor Nell!" murmured the youth. "But don't go on so, Aunt Lucy, we're bound to find her again some day. Don't you remember how we found her before, when they carried her away off to Niagara?" He stroked her hair. "Don't cry," and then he kissed her.
"This is certainly the wust blow yet," said the old frontiersman. "O' course you tried your best, Rodney?" he added, questioning.