"Why, look there! The boat is gone!"
"So she is! Well, I never!" and Mr. Rowles stared blankly at the post to which his boat was usually moored. "Someone has made off with the Fairy. That beats everything!"
Mrs. Rowles was wringing her hands. "Oh, dear, dear, dear! This is worse than I expected. She never will come home again safe!"
"No," said the lock-keeper, "them that has took her are not likely to send her back; and if so be as she has drifted down by accident she will be drawn over Banksome Weir and be smashed. I'm glad she is only an old, worn-out thing."
"An old, worn-out thing!" cried Mrs. Rowles, quite wildly. "A poor, dear child of twelve! What are you thinking of?"
"I was thinking of the Fairy. You don't mean, wife—" and he grew more serious—"you don't mean that you think the child was in her?"
"That is what I do think, Ned."
"Well, that is bad."
"And see," cried Phil, "she must have taken the sculls, for they are gone too. I know Juliet thought she could manage a boat; she said so the other day."