“You know the woods like a book,” continued the general, “and if Don is lost, you will be more likely to find him than anybody else. Good-morning, Clarence! I don’t suppose you can tell me anything about Don, can you?”
“No, sir, I am sorry to say I cannot,” replied Clarence, who felt that sinking at his heart again when he looked at Godfrey.
“He has lately fallen into the habit of roaming about of nights,” said the general, “and I don’t know how to account for it. The boy is large enough to take care of himself, but I don’t think he would stay away so long unless he were in trouble. I am going down the road to see if I can get any tidings of him; Bert is going out into the country; Godfrey has promised to search the woods; and if you feel like it, you might jump on Don’s pony and ride down the river road a few miles. Everybody down there knows Don, and if he went that way before dark last night, some one must have seen him.”
Clarence replied that he would willingly do all in his power to find the missing boy, and then Bert and his father mounted their horses and galloped out of the gate. Godfrey slunk away behind the corn-crib, and Clarence, after telling the hostler to put a saddle on Don’s pony, followed him. He found Godfrey sitting on the ground and rocking himself back and forth as if he were in great pain.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Clarence, and it was only by a great effort of will that he could bring himself to speak at all.
“O, my soul!” cried Godfrey. “Does yer know what we’ve been an’ done?”
“Do I know what we’ve done?” repeated the boy. “What do you mean? Speak out!”
“O, my soul, how can I?” moaned Godfrey. “Thar’s the gen’ral axin’ me would I s’arch the woods to find that lost boy of his’n, an’ thar he is, this blessed minute, tied up hard an’ fast in my own tater-hole. O, laws! O, laws!”
Clarence reeled and fell heavily against the corn-crib, as if some one had unexpectedly dealt him a stunning blow.