“Oh my dear, she’ll come back, and be more viperish than ever.”
“But you don’t really want the child to be lost?”
“I don’t know what I want. Don’t question me about my feelings, Lucretia; I am too miserable.”
Meanwhile the girls began to search for Peggy on their own account; it was Molly who first propounded the idea.
“Jess, I do wish we could find her. Do you know what father said when he went away—that if there were no news of her by the time he got back he’d get the police to search for her? Oh I really don’t know what to do! I wish we could find her. Won’t you help me to find her?”
“I don’t mind if I do, she must be pretty clever to have hidden herself so completely. Is there a single place in the grounds you have overlooked in searching for her, Molly?”
“Not one, not a single one, not one hole or corner. I’ve been in every one of the summer-houses, and I’ve looked behind them, I’ve been in the stableyard—in short, I’ve been everywhere. She’s not in the place. Besides, if she had been there this morning she’d have been found long ago by the gardeners and stablemen and grooms.”
“That’s true enough. Well, suppose we have the pony put to our little basket-carriage and go for a drive. We can question all the farmers’ wives on our way; they may have seen her.”
“That’s a very good idea,” said Molly, “for there’s no doubt of one thing. Peggy lost herself very easily by getting up early, and I’ve always heard that farmers’ wives get up early, so perhaps they may have seen her going by, and can give us some account of her whereabouts.”
“The nearest farm to us,” said Jessie, “is Anderson’s, but I don’t particularly care to go there because of those wild bulls.”