"Oh, don't think that he's been trapped!" Tom broke in; "that would be too awful! I—I—oh, dear, what can I do?" His voice was tremulous and full of distress.
"There isn't anything you can do, thank you," Peter answered gratefully; "Aunt Harriet has sent a description of Bounce to the police and told them he's lost, and she's ordered bills to be printed, offering a pound reward to any one who finds him—they are to be posted out over the town. You'll come in now, won't you?"
But Tom declined again. "I'll go on to the woods," he said; "if Bounce is anywhere there it's just possible Tim may find him."
Nothing of the kind happened, however, and two hours later found Tom, who had searched the woods in vain, in the high road by Hatwell Green. He was feeling very unhappy, oppressed as he was with the guilty knowledge that he was, in a manner, responsible for the loss of the blind boy's dog.
"I ought to have taken him home to his master yesterday," he thought; "I could have if I'd liked. I knew he might get shot by a gamekeeper or caught in a trap, and I left him to take his chance out of spite."
Tom had been taught the golden rule—to do unto others as he would they should do unto him, but yesterday, alas! he had disregarded it, and now he was bitterly ashamed of himself. Oh, what a mean spirit he had shown.
The gipsies were still encamped at Hatwell Green; and to-day Moses Lee was at home, seated on the steps of his caravan, making clothes-pegs. Tom entered into conversation with him, and told him all about Bounce, even confessing that he had allowed the dog to remain in the woods to follow his own devices.
"Do you think you could find the rabbit hole where you left him?" Moses inquired, after the boy had finished his tale.
"Oh, yes!" Tom answered; "it's close to that big beech tree by the gate at the entrance to the woods, in a bit of old hedge full of rabbit holes. I've been there to-day—not that I thought I should find him there, of course. I dare say after he'd grown tired of digging he wandered miles away."
"My wife and little maid have gone into Chilaton," the gipsy remarked, changing the conversation; "we're off to-morrow, all of us. Zingra won't forget that dog of yours'—nodding at Tim; you'd best keep an eye on him or he will be lost, too!"