But know not what’s resisted.”
They did not find it out till nearly nine o’clock. Bunty was frequently late for his breakfast, so no one remarked upon his absence this particular morning. Only Meg kept his coffee hot, and sent his chop back to the kitchen to be put in the oven—an unusual piece of consideration, for she used to say he deserved everything to be cold and greasy if he got up so late.
But Nellie, who was cutting the sandwiches as usual for his school lunch, cried out for him. “I can’t find John’s lunch serviette anywhere,” she said, putting in a generous supply of fat beef. “I ask him every day to leave it out of his bag. What a tiresome boy he is! I won’t give him another one this morning; he had one yesterday.”
“Poppet, go and tell John he’ll be late for [70] ]school,” Meg said. “Tell him it’s a quarter to nine—he won’t have time to eat his breakfast.” Poppet departed, her own bright merry self again; the events of last night had vanished from her with her dreams.
But she came back with a half-startled face. “He’s not there, Meg; his hat’s gone too, and his school-bag. I ’spect he got something in the pantry and went early; perhaps there is something on at school; and—and—I think he must have made his bed himself, because—it—it’s made.”
She looked half pitifully, half eagerly at Meg, as if asking for a denial of her horrible suspicions. “Come and look,” she said.
Meg got up and followed her; Nellie laid down the breadknife and went too,—it was beyond credence that Bunty should be up early and make his own bed. Peter and Essie brought up the rear, of course.
“It—it’s very strange,” Meg said, her face quite pale as she looked round the room. The bed had evidently not been slept in, for no boy could have made it look as neat as it did; it was just as Martha had left it yesterday morning. There was a suit missing—not his best one, but the one he wore alternate weeks at school—a couple of shirts too, and some socks and collars. Nellie darted to his little [71] ]red post-office money-box; it had been prised open—he had lost the key long since—and was empty.
“He had two and fourpenth ha’penny in it,” said Peter, “cauth I athked him one day.”
“He’s run away,” said Nellie. “Oh, the bad, wicked boy!”