"Chut! Bert. There's nothing to frighten you but some old crows. Stay just where you are, and I'll be back inside of an hour." And without waiting to argue the point, Charlie dashed off into the woods in the direction he thought nearest home; while Bert, after crying out in vain for him to come back, buried his face in the moss and gave himself up to tears.
One hour, two hours, three hours passed, and still Bert was alone. The sun had set, the gloaming well-nigh passed, and the shadows of night drew near. All kinds of queer noises fell upon his ear, filling him with acute terror. He dared not move from the spot upon which Charlie had left him, but sat there, crouched up close against a tree, trembling with fear in every nerve. At intervals he would break out into vehement crying, and then he would be silent again. Presently the darkness enveloped him, and still no succour came.
Meantime, there had been much anxiety at Maplebank. On Bert's being missed, diligent inquiry was made as to his whereabouts, and at length, after much questioning, some one was found who had seen him, in company with Charlie Chisholm, going up through the hill pasture toward the woods. When Mrs. Lloyd heard who his companion was, her anxiety increased, for she well knew what a reckless, adventurous little fellow Charlie was, and she determined that search should be made for the boys at once. But in this she was delayed by Uncle Alec and the men being off at a distance, and not returning until supper time. So soon as they did get back, and heard of Bert's disappearance, they swallowed their supper, and all started without delay to hunt him up.
The dusk had come before the men—headed by Uncle Alec, and followed, as far as the foot of the hill, by the old Squire—got well started on their search; but they were half-a-dozen in number, and all knew the country pretty well, so that the prospect of their finding the lost boy soon seemed bright enough.
Yet the dusk deepened into darkness, and hour after hour passed—hours of intense anxiety and earnest prayer on the part of the mother and others at Maplebank—without any token of success.
Mrs. Lloyd was not naturally a nervous woman, but who could blame her if her feelings refused control when her darling boy was thus exposed to dangers, the extent of which none could tell.
The Squire did his best to cheer her in his bluff blunt way:
"Tut! tut! Kate. Don't worry so. The child's just fallen asleep somewhere. He'll be found as soon as it's light. There's nothing to harm him in those woods."
Mrs. Lloyd tried hard to persuade herself that there wasn't, but all kinds of vague terrors filled her mind, and refused to be allayed.
At length, as it drew toward midnight, a step was heard approaching, and the anxious watchers rushed eagerly to the door, hoping for good news. But it was only one of the men, returning according to arrangement to see if Bert had been found, and if not to set forth again along some new line of search. After a little interval another came, and then another, until all had returned, Uncle Alec being the last, and still no news of Bert.