"They reckoned, you see, sir, that he was bound to drop asleep somewheres, if so be he was alive," explained Mrs. Mumby; "and they'd liker hit upon him in the dark than by broad daylight, when he'd be upon the tramp."
"It looked remarkably as if he had made off," the Squire thought. "Well, well," said he, "the way will be to telegraph the fact to Scotland Yard. A thorough search will soon be set on foot." So, repairing to the study, a description of the runaway was written out, and a man on horseback forthwith despatched with it to the town.
Whilst this was being arranged, Hal had slipped round to Mrs. Mumby's side. "I think, you know," said he, "if I could get hold of Bill, and talk to him, it might do good; but then, you see, you don't know where he is."
The mother shook her head. "I wish I did," said she.
"I wish you did," echoed Hal. "When you don't know where a person is, it makes you feel so bad. You see, he'll soon eat up that bread. It wouldn't last me long; and everybody says I eat so little, for a growing boy."
"And he eats such a lot," rejoined Bill's mother, comforted by the interest Hal seemed to take in her boy's fate. "Bless you, sir! You need to be poor people, like Mumby and me," she added, "to know how much he does eat."
"And the question is," said Hal reflectively, "what will he do when that's gone?"
Dick also had heard of the great stir caused by Bill's disappearance.
"There was pretty near a score on us," old Kirkin told him when he ran down the garden, early that morning. "We didn't put our lanterns out till four; and up again at six. I can tell 'ee, I ha'n't had a wink o' sleep."
"I wonder you didn't stay in bed to-day," said Dick.