d
heard her story, he helped her instead to search the chestnut grove and
the surrounding fields all over. But there was not a flutter of Joy's
black dress, not an echo of Winnie's cry. The sunset was fading fast in
the west, long shadows were slanting down the valley, and the blaze of
the maples was growing faint. On the mountains it was quite blotted out
by the gathering darkness.

"What _shall_ I do?" cried Gypsy, thinking, with a great sinking at her
heart, how cold the nights were now, and how early it grew quite dark.

"Hev you been 'long that ere cross-road 't opens aout through the woods
onto the three-mile square?" asked Mr. Jonathan. "I've been a thinkin'
on't as heow the young uns might ha took that ere ef they was flustered
beout knowin' the way neow mos' likely."

"Oh, what a splendid, good man you are!" said Gypsy, jumping up and
down, and clapping her hands with delight. "Nobody thought of that, and
I'll never run over your plowed-up land again as long as ever I live,
and I'm going right to tell father, and you see if I do!"

Her father wondered that they had not thought of it, and old Billy was
harnessed in a hurry, and they started for the three-mile cross-roads.
Gypsy went with them. Nobody spoke to her except to ask questions now
and then as to the precise direction the children took, and the time
they started for home. Gypsy leaned back in the carriage, peering out
into the gloom on either side, calling Joy's name now and then, or
Winnie's, and busy with her own wretched thoughts. Whatever they were,
she did not very soon forget them.

It was very dark now, and very cold; the crisp frost glistened on the
grass, and an ugly-looking red moon peered over the mountain. It seemed
to Gypsy like a great, glaring eye, that was singling her out and
following her, and asking, "Where are Joy and Winnie?" over and over.
"Gypsy Breynton, Gypsy Breynton, where are Joy and Winnie?" She turned
around with her back to it, so as not to see it.

Once they passed an old woman on the road hobbling along with a stick.
Mr. Breynton reined up and asked if she had seen anything of two
children.

"Haow?" said the old woman.

"Have you seen anything of two children along here?"

"Chilblains? No, I don't have none this time o' year, an' I don't know
what business it is o' yourn, nuther."

"Children!" shouted Mr. Breynton; "two _children_, a boy and a girl."

"Speak a little louder, can't you? I'm deaf," said the ol