Part 2 (2/2)

Then he galloped to Hunston, set the police at work and, going to a printer, told him instantly to set up and strike off placards, offering five hundred pounds reward for the recovery of the child.

This was to be done in an hour or two, and then taken to the police station for distribution throughout the country round. Having now done all in his power, Captain Ripon rode back as rapidly as he had come, in hopes that the child might already have been found.

No news had, however, been obtained of him, nor had anyone seen any strange woman in the neighborhood.

On reaching the house, he found his wife prostrated with grief and, in answer to her questions, he thought it better to tell her about the discovery of the boot.

”We may be some little time, before we find the boy,” he said; ”but we shall find him, sooner or later. I have got placards out already, offering five hundred pounds reward; and this evening I will send advertis.e.m.e.nts to all the papers in this and the neighboring counties.

”Do not fret, darling. The woman has done it out of spite, no doubt; but she will not risk putting her neck in a noose, by harming the child. It is a terrible grief, but it will only be for a time. We are sure to find him before long.”

Later in the evening, when Mrs. Ripon had somewhat recovered her composure, she said to her husband:

”How strange are G.o.d's ways, Robert. How wicked and wrong in us to grumble! I was foolish enough to fret over that mark on the darling's neck, and now the thought of it is my greatest comfort.

If it should be G.o.d's will that months or years should pa.s.s over, before we find him, there is a sign by which we shall always know him. No other child can be palmed off upon us, as our own. When we find Tom we shall know him, however changed he may be!”

”Yes, dear,” her husband said, ”G.o.d is very good, and this trial may be sent us for the best. As you say, we can take comfort, now, from what we were disposed to think, at the time, a little cross.

After that, dear, we may surely trust in G.o.d. That mark was placed there that we might know our boy again and, were it not decreed that we should again see him, that mark would have been useless.”

The thought, for a time, greatly cheered Mrs. Ripon but, gradually, the hope that she should ever see her boy again faded away; and Captain Ripon became much alarmed at the manifest change in her health.

In spite of all Captain Ripon could do, no news was obtained of the gypsy, or Tom. For weeks he rode about the country, asking questions in every village; or hurried away to distant parts of England, where the police thought they had a clue.

It was all in vain. Every gypsy encampment in the kingdom was searched, but without avail; and even the police, sharp eyed as they are, could not guess that the decent-looking Irishwoman, speaking--when she did speak, which was seldom, for she was a taciturn woman--with a strong brogue, working in a laundry in a small street in the Potteries, Notting Hill, was the gypsy they were looking for; or that the little boy, whose father she said was at sea, was the child for whose discovery a thousand pounds was continually advertised.

Chapter 2: The Foundling.

It was a bitterly cold night in January. The wind was roaring across the flats and fens of Cambridges.h.i.+re, driving tiny flakes of snow before it. But few people had been about all day, and those whose business compelled them to face the weather had hurried along, m.u.f.fled up to the chin. It was ten at night; and the porter and his wife at the workhouse, at Ely, had just gone to bed, when the woman exclaimed:

”Sam, I hear a child crying.”

”Oh, nonsense!” the man replied, drawing the bedclothes higher over his head. ”It is the wind; it's been whistling all day.”

The woman was silent, but not convinced. Presently she sat up in bed.

”I tell you, Sam, it's a child; don't you hear it, man? It's a child, outside the gate. On such a night as this, too. Get up, man, and see; if you won't, I will go myself.”

”Lie still, woman. It's all thy fancy.”

”You are a fool, Sam d.i.c.kson,” his wife said, sharply. ”Do you think I have lived to the age of forty-five, and don't know a child's cry, when I hear it? Now are you going to get up, or am I?”

With much grumbling, the porter turned out of bed, slipped on a pair of trousers and a greatcoat, took down the key from the wall, lighted a lantern, and went out. He opened the gate, and looked out. There was nothing to be seen; and he was about to close the gate again, with a curse on his wife's fancies, when a fresh cry broke on his ears. He hurried out now and, directed by the voice, found lying near the gate a child, wrapped in a dark-colored shawl, which had prevented him from seeing it at his first glance. There was no one else in sight.

Ill.u.s.tration: Sam d.i.c.kson finds little Willie Gale.

The man lifted his lantern above his head, and gave a shout. There was no answer. Then he raised the child and carried it in; locked the door, and entered the lodge.

<script>