Kenneth had turned around on his stool and was regarding old Will Rogers earnestly, brush and pallet alike forgotten. Beth was trying to keep the tears out of her own eyes, for the old man's voice was even more pathetic than his words.
"Ten days ago!" said Kenneth. "And she hasn't been found yet?"
"We can't trace her anywhere, an' Nell has broke down at las', an' don't do much but cry. It's hard, sir—I can't bear to see Nell cry. She'd sich high sperrits, onct."
"Where's the boy Tom?" asked Kenneth, somewhat gruffly.
"He's in the jail yet, waitin' to be tried. Court don't set till next week, they say."
"And where do you live, Rogers?"
"Five miles up the Fairview road. 'Taint much of a place—Nell says I've always bin a shif'les lot, an' I guess it's true. Yesterday your hired men painted all the front o' my fence—painted it white—not only where th' signs was, but th' whole length of it. We didn't ask it done, but they jes' done it. I watched 'em, an' Nell says if we on'y had th' money thet was wasted on thet paint an' labor, we might find our Lucy. 'It's a shame,' says Nell, 'all thet 'lection money bein' thrown away on paint when it might save our poor crazy child.' I hope it ain't wrong, sir; but thet's what I thought, too. So we laid plans fer me to come here today. Ef I kin get a-hold o' any o' thet money honest, I want to do it."
"Have you got a horse?" asked Kenneth.
"Not now. I owned one las' year, but he died on me an' I can't get another nohow."
"Did you walk here?" asked Beth.