But he went on. There was really no reason for Neale to be worried about the children. They were almost always well behaved. At least, they seldom disobeyed.
Besides, it was only a few minutes later when Mr. Howbridge, well muffled against the storm, appeared with Tom Jonah on a leash. The old woodsman had just got down on his knees in the snow to examine two lines of faint impressions that left the path John’s footprints had made to the farther shed.
“Now, what’s this? A deer jumped out here—or what?”
Neale waited and Mr. Howbridge held the dog back. Ike got up and followed the half-filled impressions a little farther. They headed directly for the thicker woods to the north of the Lodge premises.
“Might have been feet—small feet. And two sets of ’em,” said Ike. “Hi, Mister! did you find anything up in that closet belongin’ to the twins?”
“Here is a pair of bed slippers. Knitted ones. They are much too small for a grown person,” the lawyer declared.
M’Graw took the articles thoughtfully into his big hands. “Humph! Look like little Missie’s slippers. Certainly do. Roweny, you know. Wonder if this old dog knows anything.”
He offered the slippers to Tom Jonah to sniff. The dog had been used to following a scent in times past; often they would send him after Dot or Tess or Sammy. He snuffed eagerly at the knitted shoes.
“Don’t know how strong the scent is on ’em. It’s been some time, p’r’aps, since little Roweny wore ’em. But—”
Tom Jonah whined, sniffed again, and then lifted up his muzzle and barked, straining at the leash.