“What’s up now?” cried Walter, who, although he was learning to treat his brother with more respect and consideration, was still rather on the look-out for opportunities to play off his fun upon him. “Why, surely there’s something amiss. What’s the good, Amos, of putting a spoonful of salt into your gooseberry tart?”
Mr Huntingdon now looked round and stared at his elder son, who had by this time partly recovered his self-possession. “Nothing serious, my boy, I hope?” he said.
“I hope not, dear father. It’s only about a little child that I take an interest in; he seems to have got away from home, and his friends can’t find him.”
“Is it one of my tenants’ children?”
“No; it’s a child that lives in a cottage on the Gavelby estate. We have struck up a friendship. I ride up there sometimes, so they have sent to me about him; and I will ride over after luncheon and see what can be done.”
Nothing more passed on the subject during the meal; but Miss Huntingdon’s watchful care of her nephew made her notice the deep lines of anxiety which had gathered on the forehead of Amos, and her heart ached for him, for she was sure that he was burdened with some unexpected trouble connected with the work he had set himself to accomplish. Dinner-time came, but Amos did not make his appearance. Ten o’clock struck, but he still lingered. Never before had he been absent for a night except when at school or college, or on a visit to some friend; for his habits were most regular, and he always rose and retired to rest early, his custom in this respect having been often the subject of remark and merriment to Walter, who would say to his friends that, “although Amos would never join in a lark, he had no objection to rise with one; nor to lie down with a lamb, though he hadn’t it in him to skip like one.” So when the family met next morning at breakfast, and nothing had been seen or heard of Amos, there was a shade of anxiety on every one’s face.
“Where can the boy have been?” exclaimed Mr Huntingdon; “we never knew him go off like this before.—Hasn’t he sent any message of any kind, Harry?”
“Not a word, sir, as far as I know.”
“What’s best to be done, then?—What do you say, Kate?” asked the squire.
“Perhaps Walter can make inquiries,” suggested his sister.