“Oliver October’s down there now,” said Serepta. “I got him out of bed a little after seven. He didn’t wait to put on anything except his pants and shoes. All I could get out of him was that the last he saw of his father was down on the swamp road about nine o’clock last night. Old Ollie walked a piece with him. Last Oliver saw of him, he was standing down there in the middle of the road.”
“Sure as shootin’!” gulped Mr. Sikes, sitting down heavily on the arm of a chair. “Out of his head. Wandering around. In circles. Dead, maybe. My God, Silas!”
“My God!” echoed Mr. Link, wiping the moisture from his forehead with a palsied hand.
Both of them looked helplessly at Mrs. Grimes. She too was pale but she was not helpless.
“Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t sit there like a couple of corpses,” she cried. “Do something. Get busy. Go look for him. Start—”
“Sure he’s not around the house or barn anywhere?” broke in Mr. Link, struggling to his feet.
“Maybe he fell down the cellar,” exclaimed Mr. Sikes, hopefully. “Or the cistern, or—”
“I’ve looked everywhere. He ain’t in the cellar or the cistern or the barn. I got here just about seven. Lizzie Meggs was getting breakfast. She was singing, happy as a lark. Did I tell you that Abel Conroy is still alive? Well, he is. I sat up with Kate Conroy all night, looking for him to die any minute. He—”
“Think he’ll pull through the day?” inquired Mr. Link, suddenly becoming an undertaker.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if he got well.”