“Were you asleep, Mary?” her mother asked.
Mary said she was. “But I woke up early,” she went on, “before it was time to get up and I did see Tommy through my front bedroom window. I’m sure it was Tommy. I could just see him through the trees and he was running along the big road so fast I thought he must be going to see a fire.”
“But he would have told us—” his mother started to say.
“Not if he thought you wouldn’t let him go.”
“He’s a good boy, Mary,” said Mrs. Tyler and all at once she was crying again and saying between sobs, “Suppose he’s been hurt! Oh, my poor little boy!”
Mary went over and put her arm around her mother and pressed her own cheek against that other cheek where the tears were.
“Don’t cry, Mom,” she said. “We’ll go and get him. Maybe he’s still watching the fire.”
“You are a comfort,” said Mrs. Tyler. “Maybe you know what you’re talking about after all. Tommy’s gone and he must have gone somewhere. It wouldn’t do any harm to walk down the road a bit and ask about fires.”