Miss Mouse and Her Boys

All the Herveys started to their feet, with different exclamations of distress.

'Rosamond, little Rosamond,' cried Mrs. Hervey.

'Miss Mouse lost!' exclaimed the boys, while Mr. Hervey went to the door, and called to the Caryll Place groom, who was standing, anxious and uneasy, at the door which led to the offices.

'What's all this?' he inquired.

The man came forward and told all there was to tell. Miss Rosamond had been at Weadmere with Mrs. Caryll that afternoon, had driven home, had her tea as usual, etc. All that we know already. But when the time came for her to be dressed to go down to the dining-room, she was not to be found. They had searched the house through, thinking she might be playing some trick, though it wasn't like her to do so; then the grounds, making inquiries at the cottages about – all in vain; and now he had been sent off here with some hope – what, he did not know – that at Moor Edge he might hear something.

'Of course not,' Mr. Hervey replied impatiently, for he was very troubled and it made him cross, 'we should not have kept her here without sending word at once.'

He glanced at the boys – they were all three standing there, pale-faced and open-mouthed, Archie on the point of tears.

'Go back at once, and say we know nothing,' Mr. Hervey went on, 'but that I am following with Mr. Justin to help in the search.'

'Papa, papa, mayn't we come too?' Pat and Archie entreated, but their father shook his head, and in five minutes he and Jus were off in the dog-cart to Caryll.

Justin was very silent.

'Can you think of anywhere she can be?' asked his father, 'or any explanation? The child can't be stolen – what good would it do any one to steal her?'

Justin was in some ways a slow-witted boy.

'I can't think of anything, I'm sure,' he said. But a confused feeling was working at the back of his mind. Could it have anything to do with Bob and the ferrets? He knew that Bob was getting anxious as to paying the rest of the money, though he did not know how bad this anxiety had become – he knew, too, that he himself had been selfish and to some extent deceitful in the matter. But he could not see clearly how the two troubles could be mixed up, so he put the idea out of his mind, not sorry to do so – that was Justin's way.

'No, I can't think of anything,' he repeated.

It had been snowing lightly, and now again a few flakes began to fall.

'Do you think it's coming on to snow, papa?' he inquired, partly to change the subject, partly because it came into his mind – for he was not a heartless boy – that if Miss Mouse was lost anywhere out of doors a snowstorm would certainly not mend matters.

Mr. Hervey looked up with some anxiety.

'No,' he said, 'I think not, and I certainly hope not if that poor child is by any chance out of doors.'

They were soon at Caryll Place. Here all was miserable anxiety, for so far no traces of the poor little girl were to be found, though there were men out in all directions. Mr. Caryll had been out some distance himself, but had just come back for a moment to see Aunt Mattie before driving off to Weadmere to speak to the police. Aunt Mattie, choking down her tears, repeated to Justin's father all there was to tell – how Miss Mouse must have gone out of her own accord, as her warm cloak and cap were missing, and how she had evidently not wanted any one to know, adding, 'The only thing at all unusual to-day was our meeting Bob Crag in the town, and Rosamond may have been talking to him while I was in the shop. Can he have anything to do with it? Justin, you know him well?'

She looked keenly at Justin, and she fancied he grew red. He hesitated before answering.

'I – I don't see how, auntie,' he said at last. Then he went on more courageously. 'Bob is quite a good boy – he really is, though people speak against him. I'm sure he never would have tried to get money from – from Miss Mouse, in any naughty way, or anything like that,' and, in spite of himself, his voice faltered as he uttered the pet name of their little friend.

His father turned upon him sharply.

'Get money from her,' he repeated. 'What do you mean? What put such a thing in your head?'

'I – I don't – ' Justin was beginning, when Uncle Ted interrupted.

'I think we are wasting time,' he said; 'the whys and wherefores can be gone into afterwards – the thing to do first is to find our poor darling. If there is the least chance of the Crags knowing anything about her some one had better go there at once. Mattie, I wonder you did not mention the boy, Bob, having spoken to her this afternoon, before?'

'It only now came into my mind,' she replied gently. She was too unhappy to feel hurt at Uncle Ted's tone; she knew he was so terribly unhappy himself. Justin felt himself growing more and more miserable.

'Uncle Ted,' he exclaimed, 'may I go to the Crags? I can run very quickly, and – .' But his uncle and father had already left the hall, where they had all been standing, and had gone off again, probably to give fresh orders in the stables. Only Aunt Mattie was still there, and she had sat down on a chair by the large fire and was shading her eyes with her hand. She was feeling dreadfully tired and more and more wretched.

'If the darling has been out in the cold all this time,' she was saying to herself, 'it is enough to kill her, even if no accident has happened to her,' and all sorts of miserable thoughts came into her mind – of the letters that might have to be written to Rosamond's father and mother, telling – oh, it was too dreadful to think of what might not have to be told! She sat there motionless, except that now and then she shivered, though not with cold. Justin saw that she was not thinking of or noticing him at all, and he suddenly made up his mind to wait no longer. He crossed the hall softly, and in another moment was out in the dark drive in front of the house, unseen by any one. But once there, he turned quickly, and ran, at the top of his speed, his eyes, as he went, growing accustomed to the gloom, in the direction of the bit of lane leading towards the moor, which Miss Mouse had traversed a few hours earlier. Thence – as Justin knew well, even by the little light there was – he could, by careful noticing of some landmarks, make his way to the 'real' moor, as the boys called it, for the more or less grassy part nearer Caryll Place they did not think worthy of the name, and reach the Crags' cottage more quickly than it could be got to by the road.

He ran, steadily and not too fast, for he had a good deal of common sense and did not want to exhaust his 'wind' before he had reached his goal. And well it was that he kept his pace moderate and was able to look about him as he ran, for it was lighter out here and he had good eyes. What was that? A dark thick clump of – of what? No, there was something different about this object, and, eager as he was to get to his destination, the boy slackened his pace, hesitated, then dashed off, at full speed this time, in the direction of the something that had caught his sight.

Some snow had fallen, and now again flakes began to show themselves on his jacket. There were white dashes, too, on the strange, motionless shape he was making for. Was it setting in for a snowstorm? the boy asked himself with a curious anxiety, for there are times at which our thoughts seem to run before our reason. If so – and if – no, he would not think of such dreadful things; he would first – he was running now too fast to think – and – a minute more and he was stooping over the silent, dead-still figure of the faithful little girl. For it was Miss Mouse, her face as white as the snow, which, had it fallen already, as it was now beginning to do, would have covered her more completely than the robins covered the long-ago baby pair in the old forest; would have hidden her till it was indeed too late.

'Thank God,' whispered Justin, as he thought this; and perhaps it was the very first time he had felt what these two words mean. But then terror seized him again, was it already too late?

He rubbed her little hands, he called her by name, his hot boy's tears fell on her cold white face. He did not yet understand how it had all come about, but something seemed to tell him that his selfish thoughtlessness had to do with it. But there was no answer, no movement.

'She will die,' he thought, 'if she is not dead. I must carry her.'

He lifted her, though with difficulty, and glanced about him. Oh, joy! they were nearer Bob's cottage than he had thought; he stood still and whistled, the peculiar 'call' his brothers and he used for each other, and that Bob, too, knew. Then he moved on again, though but slowly – now and then it seemed scarcely more than a totter, his legs trembled so, and Rosamond was so strangely heavy. But it was not for long in reality, though it seemed to him hours, before help reached him. A figure came rushing across the moor, and a voice called out loudly,

'Who is it? What is the matter? It's not – oh, Master Justin, is it you? And – no, no, don't say it's the little lady – I've killed her, I've killed her. It's all my fault.'

It was in kind old Nance's cottage that the little girl came back to consciousness. Bob's grandmother was clever and skilful, and, though sadly alarmed at first, soon saw that the two boys' very natural terror was greater than need be. The child was in a sort of stupor from cold and fright and pain too, for her ankle had swelled badly by this time, from the pressure of her boot. But careful management brought her round, and she was soon able to look about her and to drink the wonderful herb tea of some kind which Nance prepared. And then she sat up and explained what she could of how the misadventure had come to pass, helped by Bob, whom she glanced at doubtfully, till he said out manfully,

'Tell it all, miss, tell it all. It's me that's to blame, only me.'

But no, it was not only at poor Bob's door that lay the blame, and so Justin well knew, and so Justin had the honesty to confess when the anxiety and distress were to some extent past, though for a few days great care had to be taken of little Rosamond.

It would be difficult to describe the joy with which Uncle Ted carried her off to the carriage waiting at the nearest point on the road, wrapped up in his strong arms so that she couldn't get chilled again, or Aunt Mattie and the Herveys' delight at the happy news of the little lost one being found. These things are more difficult to tell than to picture to oneself.

So, too, it would be difficult to relate the change in Justin which those who cared for him always dated from the night on which Miss Mouse was lost – the night of which, had worse come of it to the kind little girl, he would never have been able to think without misery beyond words.

The ferrets were paid for, of course, though not with Rosamond's money, which was now happily spent on her Christmas presents. But though paid for, Justin's pets were soon sold again, and replaced by some more lovable and attractive creatures, whom his mother and Miss Mouse and everybody could take pleasure in too. I rather think the new treasures were some particularly pretty guinea-pigs – curly-haired ones; though to be quite sure of this I should have to apply to some boys and girls of my acquaintance whose grandfather has often told them the long-ago story of Miss Mouse and the good that came of her gentle influence on him and his brothers when they were all children together.

And dear Miss Mouse herself – what of her? Where is she now? It is so many years ago, is she still alive?

Yes. I have nothing sad with which to end my little story. She is now, what most of you, I daresay, would consider a very old lady, for her hair is quite white, though her pretty gray eyes are as clear as ever. Not that they have not known tears, those kind eyes, many tears, I daresay, for the sorrows of others more than for her own, perhaps. Life would not be what it has to be, what God means it to be, without tears as well as smiles.

And Bob Crag. You will not be surprised to hear that Uncle Ted took him thoroughly in hand, and that the wild but affectionate boy grew up to be a good and useful man.