Virgie trotted along beside him again, and her nurse quickened her footsteps so that she might keep up with the two figures ahead of her.
“Good gracious!” exclaimed the sergeant, suddenly dropping the child’s hand, and scrambling down a slope beside them; “just look at that boy.”
“The boy! and sure there’s no boy to be seen,” said Bridget, who had heard his exclamation, and paused in surprise at the top of the little hill, and looked about her.
Just below them was a marshy, sedgy pond. A few ducks were dabbling in the mud at one end of it, and at the other end something brown and indistinct was moving in a slow and confused way among the rushes.
“I guess it’s Eugene,” cried little Virgie, tearfully clasping her tiny hands. “I guess he runned and frowed hisself in the water.”
“Hush, lovie,” said her nurse, putting her arm around her. “There isn’t much water here, it’s mostly mud, nor any boy for that matter. Watch and see what the quare thing is.”
The indistinct figure kept going to and fro, slightly disturbing the rushes, while the sergeant rushed back and forth over the encircling firm ground as if looking for something.
“And sure he’s crazy,” muttered Bridget. Then she tried to hush Virgie, who was crying apprehensively.
“Do you see a rope anywhere up there?” shouted the sergeant. “I had one here this morning. Some rascal must have taken it.”