“There’s the schoolhouse,” said Bingley, spying it a little distance away; “so as the pond is a short bit away, we better try it, instead of going home for assistance.” He gave the whip to the pony, and off they spun.
But Spot Pond was still and lovely and serene. Not a ripple disturbed its clear surface, and only a cat-bird screamed at them overhead.
“They couldn’t have walked clear down here by this time,” said Robert Bingley; “besides, there are no little boot-tracks anywhere.” Amy clasped her hands tightly together.
“Now I shall interview the schoolmarm,” said Robert Bingley, driving back; and rapping on the schoolhouse door, he brought out the teacher, book in hand, and a fringe of scholars, older and younger, around her.
“No,” she said to his question; “we haven’t any of us seen any little children. Have you,” turning to some big boys who sat by the window, “seen any go by?”
“No’m,” they said; and Bingley, feeling sure that nothing could have escaped a boy at such a vantage-ground, set his teeth together hard, and turned irresolutely.
Amy Loughead now sat up quite straight. “Oh! I can’t go home, Mr. Bingley,” she said, “and see Polly, and not take the children to her. Please take me into the town, and I’ll ask everybody there, in all the shops, and along the streets and houses. Somebody must know.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Robert Bingley, whipping up, “and at least your plan has action in it; and I confess myself that I don’t want to go home either without something to show for it.”
It was well past midday when Amy, who had asked at every farmhouse and each smarter residence within the village itself, now began to traverse the High Street, where all the shops were crowded together as a trading centre. Bingley had begged to get out and do this for her; but she had refused so decidedly, and plodded on so persistently, that he was forced to obey her, and he watched her little figure and pale, set face, compassionately. She had just asked at the milliner’s, gay with its spring and summer ribbons and flowers, and smart in the perky hats adorning the big window, and had turned away despairingly, going into the neighboring shops, and asking the same question, to leave everybody sad and anxious to help, when they knew Mr. Jasper King’s children were lost. Mechanically she turned up the next step of a little shop, wedged in between two taller ones, and having on the sign above the green door,—
J. BEEBE.
BOOTS AND SHOES.