long before the others were ready, our two had strapped their
blankets to their saddles, and followed by Sam's dog Rover, now getting
a little grey about the nose, cantered off up the river.

Neither spoke at first. They knew what a solemn task they had before
them; and, while acting as though everything depended on speed, guessed
well that their search was only for a little corpse, which, if they had
luck, they would find stiff and cold under some tree or cray.

Cecil began: "Sam, depend on it that child has crossed the river to this
side. If he had been on the plains, he would have been seen from a
distance in a few hours."

"I quite agree," said Sam. "Let us go down on this side till we are
opposite the hut, and search for marks by the river-side."

So they agreed; and in half an hour were opposite the hut, and, riding
across to it to ask a few questions, found the poor mother sitting on
the door-step, with her apron over her head, rocking herself to and fro.

"We have come to help you, mistress," said Sam. "How do you think he is
gone?"

She said, with frequent bursts of grief, that "some days before he had
mentioned having seen white children across the water, who beckoned him
to cross and play; that she, knowing well that they were fairies, or
perhaps worse, had warned him solemnly not to mind them; but that she
had very little doubt that they had helped him over and carried him away
to the forest; and that her husband would not believe in his having
crossed the river."

[Illustration: "_We have come to help you, Mistress._"]

"Why, it is not knee-deep across the shallow," said Cecil.

"Let us cross again," said Sam: "he _may_ be drowned, but I don't think
it."

In a quarter of an hour from starting they found, slightly up the
stream, one of the child's socks, which in his hurry to dress he had
forgotten. Here brave Rover took up the trail like a bloodhound, and
before evening stopped at the foot of a lofty cliff.

"Can he have gone up here?" said Sam, as they were brought up by the
rock.

"Most likely," said Cecil. "Lost children always climb from height to
height. I have heard it often remarked by old bush hands. Why they do
so, God, who leads them, only knows; but the fact is beyond denial. Ask
Rover what he thinks?"

The brave old dog was half-way up, looking back for them. It took them
nearly till dark to get their horses up; and, as there was no moon, and
the way was getting perilous, they d