"It's simple enough," replied Fortune. "Two of the children are lost, and now I have traced 'em to a circus in the town."
"A circus here—what, Holt's?" said the woman.
"No less. Why, Matty; you look queer yourself. Do you know anything?"
"I know nothing for certain," said Matty. "I can only tell you—but there, perhaps I had better not say—only will you excuse me for a minute or two, Fortune?"
"I'll excuse you, Matty, if you are on the trail of the children, but if you aren't, you had better stay here and let me talk matters over. You always were a fearful one for gossip, and perhaps you have picked up news. Yes, I see you have—you have got something at the back of your head this blessed minute, Matty Bell."
"That I have," replied Mrs. Bell. "But please don't ask me a word more, only let me get on my bonnet and cloak."
Mrs. Bell left the room, and quickly returned dressed in her widow's weeds, for though Bell had been dead for over ten years, his widow was still faithful to his memory; she slipped a thick crêpe veil over her face, and went out, looking the very essence of respectability. She was not more than twenty minutes away, and when she came back she looked much excited. On each of her smooth, pasty cheeks might even be seen a little flush of color, and her dull blue eyes were brighter than their wont.
"Fortune," she cried, "as there's a heaven above me, I've found 'em!"
"Bless you, Matty; but where—where?"
"Why, at no less a place than Jonathan Darling's."