"Is Miss Van Rensselaer here? This is the school-house, isn't it?"
"It's the school-house all right," answered Dan, "but there ain't no Miss Van Rensselaer round. Don't know no such person. You must 'a' ben told wrong."
"Oh, no; I saw her this morning. In fact, she must have expected me. I refer to the teacher of this school."
"The teacher's Miss Montgomery—Miss Mary Montgomery—an' she's gone. She boards this week with the Peabodys', up by the church, second house beyond. She hasn't been gone from here five minutes."
"That is very strange," said the visitor. "I just walked down past the church and did not meet her."
"She sometimes stops a minute to see how the blacksmith's little sick girl is, at the corner here. She might 'a' gone there, but she never stays long. You'd best go right up to Peabody's."
Daniel was anxious to get rid of the man, and he was certain that the teacher had not gone in the direction of the Peabodys', for he had watched the road every minute until he came around to the front of the school.
Harrington Winthrop took himself away, with a baffled look on his imperious face. As soon as he had passed from sight, Dan reconnoitred the school-yard.
There was no sign of anybody. He listened, but could not hear the dog. He gave a long, low whistle, and instantly from the distance, toward the woods, he heard a faint, sharp bark in answer. He whistled again, and again came the dog's response.
Daniel was over the fence in a second and down the hill, not whistling again until he reached the log across the brook. Then the dog's bark was nearer, but it ended suddenly, as if some one was holding his muzzle. The boy thought he understood, and bounded rapidly toward the place from which the sound seemed to have come. In a moment more he had plunged into the darkness of the woods.