CHAPTER IX.
There was an unusual stir in the quiet household of Wareham Abbey that evening; for at nearly eight o'clock the two little boys had not returned home.
Virginie had not been very much concerned at their absence during the first few hours, as they very often ran on before her, and then betook themselves to some of their favorite haunts.
But when tea-time came and passed, she got uneasy, and went to look for them. Her uneasiness changed to alarm when she had visited in vain the dairy, laundry, swing, gardens, and dog-kennel. Then, when it came on to rain, her anxiety increased; and when from drizzling it changed to a steady down-pour her "nerves" gave way completely, and she returned home to consult with the other servants as to what steps had best be taken.
She went into the housekeeper's room, wringing her hands, and prognosticating all sorts of evils to Miles. "Never, never, would he recover from the effects of such a wetting!"
The gardener was dispatched one way and the coachman another, bearing umbrellas and galoshes.
The two little culprits were soon discovered sitting in a damp ditch, sheltering themselves under a hedge.
Humphrey took great credit to himself for having hit upon this plan.
"The fact was," he said, "the pond and the water-lilies had been so engrossing, that he had forgotten all about the time till he saw the sun beginning to sink; then starting off in a great hurry, they had taken the wrong turning out of the field, and lost their way in the wood."
They were wandering on in the wrong direction, when they met a boy, who had pointed out their mistake, and brought them back to the high road. Here Humphrey had suddenly recollected that rain was apt to give his little brother cold, and with great pride in his own forethought had established him, dripping wet as he already was, under the hedge where they had been sitting for about half an hour before the coachman found them.