'aid. All his black hair turn white.
After that I never see him again. Mebbe dead, too."

"I hope nothing like that happened to good old Tom." David shuddered.
"Jean, honestly, do you think we'll ever find the boy?"

"_Le bon Dieu_ know," Jean crossed himself reverently.

"I don't think much of the sheriff up here," continued David. "He simply
laid down on his job after the first week or two. After Mrs. Gray had
offered a reward he made quite a lot of fuss. But it all died out
quickly. Blaisdell's done his best, but this isn't his kind of a job.
Half a dozen so-called woodsmen up here have tried their hand at it,
too. I spoke to the sheriff about this very piece of woods that we've
invaded, but he claimed he'd gone all over the ground. I don't believe
it, though. He gave me to understand that he thought the whole affair
was very queer. He even asked me if Mrs. Gray wasn't holding back
something. He hinted that she and Tom might have quarreled over family
matters and that Tom was keeping out of sight on purpose to worry her. I
reminded him that Tom had come up here to help Mr. Mackenzie out and
told him a few things about Tom that ought to have changed his opinion.
But I don't think he believed me. He's a bull-headed kind of fellow that
would never admit himself in the wrong," ended David in disgust.

"I hav' seen many such," commented Jean soberly. "Anyhow we are here.
W'en we hav' finish the breakfast then we start again. Mebbe some good
come to-day."

"I hope so." David's voice sounded a trifle weary. It was hard indeed to
meet with such continued discouragement.

Breakfast finished, the seekers again took up their quest. Noon found
them not more than three miles away from the spot where they had
breakfasted. The necessity of halting frequently to inspect some
especially tangled bit of undergrowth or suspicious looking covert large
enough to conceal the body of a man, made their progress painfully slow.
Toward the middle of the afternoon, a cold rain set in, thereby adding
to the discomforts of their march. Although it was early October, the
great trees above their heads were partially stripped of their foliage,
thus offering them little protection from the unceasing drizzle.

"This is awful, Jean!" exclaimed David Nesbit, as two hours later,
drenched to the skin, the wayfarers huddled together under a giant oak
tree to consider the situation. "We ought to try to find some sort of
shelter for the night. It will