Part 5 (2/2)

Nothing more pa.s.sed 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.

”Well,” replied her nephew, ”I wouldn't mind, but really I don't know where to look exactly. I may be riding about all day, for he's gone after the missing child, I suppose, so it will be no use looking for him at the child's home. And, besides, I've an engagement to play lawn- tennis and go to luncheon at the Worthingtons', and I can't disappoint them.”

”Not in such a case as this?” asked his aunt reproachfully. ”Can't you send a note of apology to the Worthingtons? Suppose something serious has happened to your brother!”

”Oh, nonsense, Aunt Kate,” cried Walter, who was not prepared to give up his engagement of pleasure; ”don't be afraid about Amos; he'll turn up all right. He's on his way home, you may depend upon it; only perhaps he has been trying to solve some wonderful problem, and has forgotten all about such commonplace things as time and s.p.a.ce, and has fallen asleep under a hedge.”

”I will go myself, then,” said Miss Huntingdon, ”and see if I can hear anything of him from the neighbours.”

”Indeed, Kate,” said her brother, ”you must do nothing of the sort. Set your mind at rest. I will go myself and make inquiries; and if the boy does not make his appearance by luncheon time, we must take further steps to find him.”

”Can _I_ be of any use, sir, in the matter?” asked Harry.

”Ah, that's just the thing!” cried Walter. ”If you can spare Harry, father, Jane can wait at luncheon; and I'll just put Harry myself on what I think will be the right scent.”

”Well, my boy, it can be so, and you can do as you say,” replied his father. ”I know we can trust Harry to do his best; he can take the old mare, and we shall do very well with Jane till he comes back.”

Nothing loath, but rather gratified with the part he had to play and the trust placed in him, the old butler set out about noon on the old mare, accompanied by Walter, who was on his way to the Worthingtons'. Harry would have preferred managing matters in his own fas.h.i.+on, which would have been to go on a tour of inquiry from farm to farm; but, having no choice, he surrendered himself to the guidance and directions of Walter.

So they rode on together for some miles till they came within sight of the cottage where Amos had been seen by his brother playing with the little children.

”There, Harry,” said Walter, ”you see that cottage? just you call in there, and you will either find my brother there, if I am not mistaken, or, at any rate, you will find somebody who will tell you where to look for him.” Then he turned and put spurs to his horse, and was soon out of sight, leaving the old servant to jog along at his leisure to the little dwelling pointed out to him, the roof of which he could just see distinctly in the distance.

”Humph!” said Harry half out loud, as he rather reluctantly made his way towards the cottage; ”you might have gone yourself, Master Walter, I think, and saved an old man like me such a shaking as I've had on the old mare's back. But I suppose that 'lawn tens,' as they call it, is a mighty taking thing to young people; it seems all the go now; all the young gents and young ladies has gone mad after it. Knocking them b.a.l.l.s back'ards and for'ards used to be called 'fives' when I were a boy, but they calls it 'tens' now; I suppose 'cos they does everything in these days twice as fast as they used to do. Well, it don't matter; but if it had been Master Amos, and t'other road about, he'd never have let 'tens,' or 'twenties,' or 'fifties' stand between him and looking arter a lost brother. But then people don't know Master Amos and Master Walter as I do. Their aunt, Miss Huntingdon, does a bit, and p'raps master will himself some day.”

By the time he had finished this soliloquy Harry had neared the cottage.

Then he quickened his pace, and having reached the little garden gate, hung his horse's bridle over a rail, with the full knowledge that the animal would be well content to stand at ease an unlimited time where she was left. Then he made his way up to the cottage door and knocked.

His summons was immediately answered by a respectably dressed middle- aged woman, who opened the door somewhat slowly and cautiously, and then asked him civilly what was his business with her. ”Well, if you please, ma'am,” said the butler, ”I'm just come to know if you can tell me anything about my young master, Mr Amos. He ought to have come home last night, and none of us has set eyes on him up to the time when I left home, about an hour since.”

The person whom he addressed was evidently in a difficulty what to answer. She hesitated, and looked this way and that, still holding the door ajar, but not inviting Harry into the house. The old man waited a few moments, and then he said, ”If you please, ma'am, am I to understand as you don't know nothing about my young master, Mr Amos, and where he's gone?”

Still the other made no reply, but only looked more and more uneasy. It was quite clear to Harry now that she could give him the information he wanted, if only she were willing to do so. He waited therefore another minute, and then said, ”You've no cause, ma'am, to fear as I shall get Master Amos into trouble by anything you may tell me. I love him too well for that; and I can be as close as wax when I like. You may trust me, ma'am, and he'd tell you the same if he was here.”

”And what may your name be, friend?” asked the woman.

”Well,” he replied, ”the quality calls me 'Harry;' but every one else calls me Mr Frazer,--at least when they behaves as they ought to do. I am butler at Flixworth Manor, that's Mr Amos Huntingdon's home; and I've been in the family's service more nor fifty years come next Christmas, so it ain't likely as I'd wish to do any on 'em any harm.”

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