Up to that date the family had prospered steadily, and, may we not add, deservedly; their children having been trained in the knowledge of God, their duties having been conscientiously discharged, their sympathies with suffering humanity encouraged, and their general principles carried into practical effect. The consequence was that they were a well-ordered and loving family. There are many such in our land—families which are guided by the Spirit and the Word of God. The sudden disappearance, therefore, of the eldest son of the Twitter family was not an event to be taken lightly for he had never slept out of his own particular bed without the distinct knowledge of his father and mother since he was born, and his appearance at the breakfast-table had been hitherto as certain as the rising of the sun or the winding of the eight-day clock by his father every Saturday night.
In addition to all this, Sammy was of an amiable disposition, and had been trustworthy, so that when he came to the years of discretion—which his father had fixed at fifteen—he was allowed a latch-key, as he had frequently to work at his employer’s books till a lateish hour,—sometimes eleven o’clock—after the family, including the domestic, had gone to rest.
“Now, Samuel,” said Mrs Twitter, with a slight return of her wonted energy, “there can be only two explanations of this. Either the dear boy has met with an accident, or—”
“Well, Mariar, why do you pause?”
“Because it seems so absurd to think of, much more to talk of, his going wrong or running away! The first thing I’ve got to do, Samuel, is to go to the police-office, report the case, and hear what they have to advise.”
“The very thing I was thinking of, Mariar; but don’t it strike you it might be better that I should go to the station?”
“No, Samuel, the station is near. I can do that, while you take a cab, go straight away to his office and find out at what hour he left. Now, go; we have not a moment to lose. Mary,” (this was the next in order to Sammy), “will look after the children’s breakfast. Make haste!”
Mr Twitter made haste—made it so fast that he made too much of it, over-shot the mark, and went down-stairs head foremost, saluting the front door with a rap that threw that of the postman entirely into the shade. But Twitter was a springy as well as an athletic man. He arose undamaged, made no remark to his more than astonished children, and went his way.
Mrs Twitter immediately followed her husband’s example in a less violent and eccentric manner. The superintendent of police received her with that affable display of grave good-will which is a characteristic of the force. He listened with patient attention to the rather incoherent tale which she told with much agitation—unbosoming herself to this officer to a quite unnecessary extent as to private feelings and opinions, and, somehow, feeling as if he were a trusted and confidential friend though he was an absolute stranger—such is the wonderful influence of Power in self-possessed repose, over Weakness in distressful uncertainty!
Having heard all that the good lady had to say, with scarcely a word of interruption; having put a few pertinent and relevant questions and noted the replies, the superintendent advised Mrs Twitter to calm herself, for that it would soon be “all right;” to return home, and abide the issue of his exertions; to make herself as easy in the circumstances as possible, and, finally, sent her away with the first ray of comfort that had entered her heart since the news of Sammy’s disappearance had burst upon her like a thunderclap.