“’Ees,” he repeated, “I left en wi’ the maids, and they must ha’ started long afore I. I’ll tell ye all about it—I did meet Charl’ Pollen—”
“Father!” shrieked Maggie, “ye don’t mean to say ye haven’t got Johnny! He wasn’t with us! He ran off to you late in the afternoon. I saw en close aside o’ you. Lard save us, what’s to be done! The child’s lost!”
“Lost!” repeated Reed, sobered in a minute. “Lost!”
He rushed towards the girls, his face working, his eyes bloodshot. “If you’ve been and lost that child I’ll be the death o’ you.”
His voice was harsh, absolutely unlike itself; he could scarcely articulate in his frenzy of rage and terror.
“I told ’ee,” he cried, “I told ’ee to look after en—my last words was, ‘Take care o’ Johnny, whatever ye do’. Don’t dare tell me ye’ve been and lost en!”
“Oh, Father, Father!” wailed Maggie, who had retreated to the farthest end of the room, and now stood gazing at him with eyes that seemed ready to start from her pallid face. “Oh, Father, you did say you was a-comin’ back for en, and he was a-cryin’ for you, and when he catched sight o’ you he wouldn’t be kept back all us could say. And we stood and watched en till he was close aside of ’ee. How could we but think he was safe!”
“Ye shouldn’t ha’ let go of en for a minute,” thundered the father. “I never set eyes on en, I tell ’ee. My God! the child’s lost, sure enough!”
He sank down on the nearest chair, covering his face with his hands, while the women stood huddled together with ghastly faces, weeping and lamenting. Suddenly he sprang up again, turning on them savagely:—
“How could ye be sich fools as to think I’d keep him out till this hour? D’ye fancy I’d no thought for en? D’ye really think I—I could go for to do anything as mid hurt en? Lard, to think on it! Keep them maids o’ yourn out of my sight, Missus, or upon my word I’ll be the death of ’em.”