The deputy sheriff lowered his foot and turned around.
“Taken?” he asked. “Who took her?”
Ben said that he didn’t know and explained that he believed she had been taken, because she would have run aground on the head of the island if she’d simply drifted off.
“That sounds reasonable,” returned Brown. “Heard anything of her being picked up below here?”
“Not a word,” said Ben.
The deputy sheriff climbed to the seat beside the constable then and the pair drove away.
Ben and Jim McAllister returned to the haying and worked in the high fields until after sundown. Little Marion Sherwood went to bed immediately after supper. Uncle Jim went next, yawning, and was soon followed by Ben. The moment Ben sank his head on his pillow he discovered that he wasn’t nearly so sleepy as he had thought. For a few minutes he lay and pictured the fight between himself and the deputy sheriff which had not taken place. He was sorry it had not materialized, though he felt no bitterness toward Mr. Brown. He rather liked Mr. Brown now, in fact. But what a fine fight it would have been. The thought suggested to him the great fight in “Rodney Stone,” which he tried to remember, only to find that the details had become obscure in his mind. He left his bed and went downstairs with the intention of fetching the book from the library. He was surprised to find his mother busily engaged in locking and double bolting the front door.
“What’s the idea, mother?” he asked. “Why lock that old door now for the first time since it was hung on its hinges?”
She told him of the disappearance of the ham and bread.
“But wasn’t one of the dogs in the house?” he asked.