“Dhivil a bit have they been here,” replied Michael. “Ain’t me ould eyes sore for the soight av ’em all the whoile ag’in? They’re nowhere about here, rest ye aisy.”
“I’m afraid they may be lost,” said Mrs. Burton.
Mike burst into a prolonged horse laugh, and then, recovering himself by sundry contortions and swallowings, he replied:
“Beggin’ yez pardon, ma’am, but I couldn’t help it—as the blessed Virgin is smoilin’ in heaven, I cuddent—but thim byes can niver be lost. Lost, is it? Cud ye lose a ghost or a bird? They’ll foind their way anywhere they’ve been once, an’ if they haven’t been there before they’ll belave they have, an’ foind their way out all roight. Lave yer boddher till dinner-time, an’ mark me wurruds ye’ll foind ye’ve no nade av it. Losht!” and Mike burst into another laugh that he hurried into the stable to hide while Mrs. Burton returned to her home with a mind almost quiet.
The morning ended, however, and no small boys appeared at the table. Mrs. Burton’ fears came back with increased strength and she hurried off again to Mike and implored him to go in search of the children. The sight of an ugly looking tramp or two by the way suggested kidnapping to Mrs. Burton and brought tears to her eyes. Even the doubting Mike, when he learned that the children had eaten nothing that day, grew visibly alarmed and mounted one of his master’s horses in hot haste.
“Where are you going first, Mike?” asked Mrs. Burton.
“Dhivil a bit do I know!” exclaimed Mike; “but I’m goin’ to foind ’em, an’ may the blessed saints go with me!”
Away galloped Mike, and Mrs. Burton, fearing that the alarm might reach the boys’ mother, hurried home, started the cook on one road, the chambermaid on another, and herself on a third, while Mike sought the candystore, the schoolhouse, sundry bridges over brooks, and the various other places that boys delight in. Mrs. Burton’s own course was along a road leading up the rugged, heavily wooded hill called by courtesy a mountain, but she paused so many times, to call, to listen, to step considerably out of her way to see if dimly descried figures were not those of her nephews, and to discover that what seemed in the forest to be boyish figures were only stumps or bushes, that she spent at least two hours upon the road, which doubled many times upon itself. Suddenly she saw in the road beyond her a familiar figure dragging a large green bough.
“Budge!” she screamed and ran toward him. The little figure turned its head, and Mrs. Burton was shocked to see a haggard face, whose whiteness intensified the starting eyes, pink, distended nostrils, and thin, drawn lips of her nephew. And upon the bough, holding to one of the upper sprigs tightly with one hand, while with the other he clutched something green and crumpled, lay Toddie, dust-encrusted from head to foot.
“Oh! what has happened?” Mrs. Burton exclaimed.