“I’ll be very careful—but it won’t do for me to be afraid, or p’r’aps I’ll never get Jack back again,” said Molly. “I mustn’t be afraid of anything now.”
“That’s the spirit,” said the farmer, slapping his knee. “And if there’s anything we can do to help you—you’ve only got to name it—we shall be proud.”
When the farmer’s wife tucked her up in bed, about twenty minutes later, Molly threw her arms round her neck.
“I don’t know why you are so good to me,” she said. “Thank you so much. I’ve given you a lot of trouble, I’m afraid.”
“Not the least bit in the world,” replied the farmer’s wife. “Try to get to sleep, my dear.... P’r’aps to-morrow—who knows what may happen to-morrow!”
Molly was so exhausted that she slept soundly and dreamlessly, in spite of the fact that the wind rattled furiously at her window and roared down the chimney. In the morning she woke with a dreadful, leaden feeling at her heart, but she determined not to brood over yesterday, but to get to work at once.
After breakfast she collected up all the things from Jack’s satchel and put them with her belongings into her own satchel. The farmer’s wife insisted on giving her a big packet of food for luncheon, and told her to come back and sleep at the farm again that night if she ended her day’s search anywhere near.
Molly thanked her gratefully, then started out alone. The rain had ceased, and the wind was much less violent, but it was a grey day with a sky full of scurrying clouds.
And now began a long, wearying time for Molly. Alone, of course, the task of searching was longer and more difficult, though the enthusiasm with which she went to work kept her from realizing this to the full. She went on her way searching eagerly and thoroughly that part of the valley through which the river ran, which came within her square of map; she crossed the water by another bridge about a mile away from the place of last night’s accident, and searched the opposite bank, gradually working her way back to the spot where the Pumpkin had appeared.
Across the water she could see the farm-house, half-way up the hilly road on the other side. Behind her was the stile which she and Jack had clambered over yesterday. Was it only yesterday?—it seemed more like a week ago to Molly. She climbed over the stile again and crossed the field, searching as she went, to the Orange Wood.