Mrs. Reed’s very soul was pierced by the cruelty of the words “Them maids o’ yours,” which not only implied her responsibility for the catastrophe, but seemed to portend a kind of dissolution of partnership; but, nevertheless, she alone of all the family retained a remnant of self-possession.
“Let’s see,” she said tremulously, “what time was it when you see him last, maids?”
“Six o’clock, I think,” gasped Maggie.
“Six o’clock,” repeated Reed, dropping his voice suddenly to a despairing note. “Six o’clock and it’s nigh upon two now! That’s eight hours since he was seen or heard of.”
“Maybe he’s there yet,” cried the mother, still striving to be hopeful. “Don’t let’s lose another moment, Father—let’s go and look for en straight off. Maybe he’s crope into one o’ the tents and fell asleep, or maybe somebody’s found en and is a-taken care of en. I don’t believe,” added the poor woman wistfully, “I don’t believe as any one could find it in their hearts for to hurt a little chap like him—so pretty as he did look too! Oh, dear!”
Her face changed, and she caught her breath with a sudden gasp. Her lip began to tremble, and she pressed her finger to it to still it.
“He be too pretty,” she said falteringly; “that’s the worst on it! There be so many gipsy folk about, and play-actors, and all sorts.”
“Oh, Mother,” cried Maggie and Rosie together, “ye don’t think as anybody ’ud want to steal en?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” she returned almost inarticulately; “there, maybe they wouldn’t, but they do tell sich tales, and Johnny did look sich a pictur’, ye know; we was a-sayin’ it ourselves.”
John Reed uttered such a heart-rending groan upon this that the girls, forgetful of their terror, ran towards him.