“Jump in,” said Mr. Bingley, extending his hand to help her; “excuse my not getting out, but this horse is bound to go. There, now,” as she was seated, “which way, of all the ways in the universe, would those children be likely to take—that’s the question. Then I should take the other.”
“The scissors-man said he hadn’t seen a child on this road; and he has just come from Badgertown,” said Amy.
“I saw you interviewing him,” said Robert Bingley. “Well, as that remarkably stupid individual did give utterance to that fact, I should state my private opinion to be that those children took this very road. He’s too stupid to know a child when he sees it.”
“Mr. Bingley,” cried Amy, all the color deserting her cheek, and in her sudden terror she seized his arm, “oh, I’ve just thought—there’s the pond, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” said Bingley, distressed at her fright, but outwardly as cool as ice.
“Why, Spot Pond, they call it,” said Amy with a little gasp. “Phronsie was telling me about it—what a pretty place it was, and how they would take me fishing there, and”—
“Were the children about so that they heard you?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes—no, I believe not,” she said, racking her brain to remember; “but they may have gone there just the same.”
“Where is it, do you know?” asked Bingley, slackening speed a little.
“It’s on this road. After you get by the schoolhouse, then turn to the right—that is, it’s just a little off the road,” said Amy; “she told me all about it at the breakfast-table. O Mr. Bingley, do let us go there!”