Chapter XVII: Theodore's Disappearance

WE must now revert to the time when, having finished her task of darning the boys' stockings, Jane had gone downstairs, expecting to have found Theodore and Jack waiting for her to take them for a walk. At first she had believed they were on the premises, probably hiding for fun; but on paying a visit to the kitchen, she had discovered how they had begged cake of Mrs. Fry, saying they were going to have a picnic by themselves, and how the farmer had seen them hurrying away together. She had felt vexed, but had not been in the least anxious on their account; and having realised the folly of trying to find the truants, had spent the afternoon in her own room, employed in needlework for herself. When tea-time had not brought the boys back to the farm, however, she had been seriously annoyed with them; but on Mr. and Mrs. Barton's return, at seven o'clock, her annoyance had given place to direst alarm. In a few words she explained that the boys had gone off without allowing her to know their intentions, and that she had never suspected them of any secret purpose until she found them missing. Mr. Barton had immediately paid a visit to the village, but the boys had not been seen there during that day. When darkness had come on, a search-party had been organised, in which Seth Stanley and several others had joined. The blacksmith, remembering the many questions Theodore had put to him concerning the Hermit's Cave, had started to look for the boys in that spot; whilst the other searchers had disappeared in different directions; and Mr. Barton, in company with Mr. Fry, had driven off to make enquiries in the neighbouring villages. The two latter had been returning to Blackburn Farm after a fruitless quest, when they had met little Jack, and had learned from him of Theodore's terrible plight.

"The poor child must be caught in a fox-trap!" Mr. Barton exclaimed in tones of dismay. "What do you think, Fry?" he asked his companion.

Mr. Fry agreed with Mr. Barton that what Jack called a "trap with such dreadful teeth" would most probably be a fox-gin, and asked Jack to explain where he had left his brother. The farmer knew the cottage well, so the two men took Jack between them in the gig, and drove away as fast as old Boxer could go.

Very few words were spoken, for Mr. Barton was far too concerned about Theodore to ask Jack any questions. Once he said, "My poor boy! my poor Theodore!" and Mr. Fry urged Boxer to increase his speed.

Jack had now somewhat regained his composure, so that when they arrived at the little white-washed cottage he was able to point out the spot where he had left Theodore. The two men got over the hedge, leaving Jack in the gig, with Help in charge, for Boxer's master knew he was to be trusted not to move a step until he returned to him.

Jack shook with suspense and suppressed excitement as he listened to the voices of the others. How would they find Theodore? They were longer than he expected; and presently, being unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, he stood up in the gig to try and look over the hedge; but he could only see the lantern which Mr. Fry was carrying.

"Father!" he said nervously; "oh, father, do tell me Theodore is not dead!"

"Theodore is not here," was the amazing answer, in his stepfather's voice, which sounded full of bewilderment and anxiety.

"Oh, father, he must be! I am sure that is the right place!" cried Jack, in an agony of terror. "Oh, he must be there!"

"No, he is not. We have found the gin, but some one has been before us. Theodore is not here."

"Perhaps he opened the trap himself," Jack suggested, although he knew that was most unlikely.

"Quite impossible," Mr. Barton responded. "Wait where you are, Jack. We are going to make a thorough search."

Jack sat down again, his mind in a whirl of confusion. Theodore gone! It was marvellous! At any rate, he had been released from the dreadful trap; there was comfort to be found in that thought, at least.

Meanwhile, Mr. Barton and the farmer were holding a consultation on the other side of the hedge. They had found the cruel gin, which had evidently been set to entrap a fox, should one be tempted to visit the hen's roost, with its teeth wide apart, bearing witness to the truth of Jack's story by the blood stains upon it. There were marks of nailed boots near the place, and the hedge had been broken down at the top, as though some heavy person had climbed it. One thing was certain, that Theodore was nowhere near; therefore, it seemed most probable that whoever had released him from the trap had conveyed him away by road.

"The poor boy must have suffered agonies," Mr. Barton said in a tremulous tone as he examined the gin. "What a ghastly instrument of torture it is! I thought it was illegal to set these things?"

The farmer said it was, but added that it was nevertheless often done by poultry-keepers.

The owner of the cottage was an old man, a bachelor, who lived alone— Peter Blake by name. Mr. Fry knew him well, but could not imagine why he was away from home, as he most evidently was.

"I do not see what more we can do," Mr. Barton said at length, with a sigh. "Theodore could not have freed himself from the gin; so whoever released him will doubtless see he has shelter for the night. Jack saw no one from the time he left here till he met us; but some one must have come by way of one of the cross-roads. That some one may have been driving, too, and would most likely take Theodore to Blackburn Farm. I think, Fry, our wisest plan will be to drive right home. It may be we shall find news of Theodore awaiting our return, even if he himself is not there. Let us start at once."

The farmer agreed to this plan. A few minutes later Boxer was again trotting towards Blackburn Farm. No doubt the old horse thought of his comfortable stable and supper of oats, for he exerted himself to trot his fastest, as though he had not already had a long journey that day.

Mr. Barton was intensely anxious about Theodore, though he tried to reassure his little stepson, who was trembling with apprehension of he knew not what.

"If only we could tell where he was," Jack whispered in a tearful voice. "You don't think he can have wandered away, and got lost in a bog, do you, father?"

"No, no; that is impossible! He has found a friend—or rather, a friend has found him."

"I don't think God would let any one hurt Theo," Jack said earnestly, "although He did let him get caught in that trap. Oh, I shall never forget it!" And he hid his eyes against Mr. Barton's sleeve, shuddering at the remembrance of Theodore's white face and closed eyes. "Is mother very frightened?" he asked presently.

"Yes, and Jane too!" Mr. Barton answered. "What made you boys go off without a word to any one, as you did?"

"We wanted to find the Hermit's Cave, and to pretend we were explorers. Oh, it was fine fun until we got lost!" and he proceeded to give an account of the afternoon and evening's adventures.

Mr. Barton's blood ran cold in his veins as the little boy spoke of the will-o'-the-wisps and the bog, whilst Mr. Fry, who was usually the most stolid of men, and rarely spoke except in response to a question, was moved to remark that it was a wonder Jack was there to tell the tale, seeing how near he must have been to one of the most dangerous spots on Dartmoor, which had proved fatal to unwary travellers on several occasions. Arrived at Blackburn Farm, they were surrounded by an excited group before they had time to get down from the gig.

"Here's Jack quite safe," Mr. Barton said immediately, "but have you seen or heard anything of Theodore?"

"No." What did Mr. Barton mean? Was not Theodore with him? Had not the boys been found together?

In a few brief words he explained that he had hoped to get news of his little son on his return, for he had not found him. As he sprang to the ground, and stood in the midst of the group, his wife came forward, and caught him by the arm, imploring him to tell what had happened, and why Theodore was not with him.

"Your boy is all right, Mary," he said gently. "See, there he is in Mr. Fry's arms! He's a bit done up, but no harm has come to him."

As soon as the farmer placed Jack on the ground, he ran to his mother's side. She turned to him and kissed him with tender affection, thanking God in her heart for her darling's safety.

"Come into the house, Mary," Mr. Barton said, striving to speak steadily, but his voice trembled in spite of his efforts to control it, "and then I'll tell you all I know. I'm in great trouble about Theodore!"

At that point Jane interposed. She had been standing by in bewilderment, scarcely realising at first that her master had not brought home Theodore as well as Jack; but now she came forward and enquired, in tones of strong emotion:

"Isn't Master Theodore here?"

"No, Jane," Mr. Barton replied. "I hoped you might have had news of him, but—"

"Where is he?" Jane cried wildly. "You don't mean to tell me you've left him on the moor—to die maybe! Oh, sir, forgive me if I forget myself, and speak as I ought not, but Master Theo's dearer to me than my own life! It was I who took him from his mother's arms, remember! And during the lonely years which followed, it was I who loved and cared for him! Oh, if anything has happened to him—"

"Hush, Jane!" Mr. Barton interrupted in moved tones. "Come inside with us, like a sensible woman, and we will talk matters over."

He led the way into the house, and into the parlour, where the household assembled to know what had become of Theodore; and many were the exclamations of dismay and consternation which greeted his story of the boys' adventures. When he spoke of Theodore's accident, Jane could not restrain her grief; she sobbed aloud, and would not be comforted. But when Jack went to her, and throwing his arms around her neck, mingled his tears with hers, she seemed to realise the folly of her behaviour.

"Oh, Master Jack, how wet and muddy you are, and as white as a sheet, I declare!" she cried, drying her streaming eyes. "I will put you to bed at once!"

"Yes, please, do," Mrs. Barton said quickly, thinking Jane would be better for being employed. "Go, Jack, like a good boy! Mrs. Fry will make you a basin of bread and milk; and I will come to see you after you are in bed."

Mrs. Fry nodded, and left the room to prepare Jack's supper, whilst the boy pleaded hard not to be sent to bed yet.

"Oh, let me stay up till Theo comes!" he cried piteously. "Oh, mother, do! Oh, father, ask her to let me stay up! I can't, I can't go to bed before Theo comes!"

"You must, my dear," his mother told him gently, but firmly; and Jack knew from the tone of her voice that she meant to be obeyed.

Mr. Barton had gone to the window, where he had drawn up the blind, and was now gazing out into the darkness. Jack would have liked to say good night to his stepfather, but his mother motioned to Jane to take him away.

He went upstairs with a bursting heart, his eyes full of tears, his breast heaving with sobs. Jane soon had him in bed; and when she had induced him to swallow the hot bread and milk which Mrs. Fry brought up to his room, she insisted on his closing his eyes, and trying to sleep, whilst she went downstairs to hear if there was any news of Theodore; and if not, what was being done to discover his whereabouts. Presently Jack heard his mother's light footsteps in the room. She came to him, and putting her arms around him, whispered that he must not grieve, for she was sure God would send Theodore back to them in safety; and meanwhile they must pray for him, and hope for the best.

"You should not have made a secret of where you were going," she said, with tender reproach in her loving voice; "you must have known it was not right! See what trouble you boys have brought about! But I will not scold you now, for you must be almost worn out. Try to sleep, my darling boy! I hope and believe that Theodore is in safety somewhere! His father has gone out again in search of him—his poor father!"

Mrs. Barton's voice broke at the remembrance of the white, shocked look on her husband's face. She said good night to Jack, kissed him once more, and turned to leave the room. As she passed Theodore's empty bed, she paused and gently rearranged the pillows, the tears which had been in her eyes all the while she had been talking to Jack, rolling down her cheeks as she thought of the high-spirited little lad, who was dearer to her than he himself guessed. Then she quietly left the room, meeting Jane outside the door, who asked if Jack was asleep yet.

"No," Mrs. Barton replied, "but I believe if we leave him alone he soon will be. Oh, Jane, don't cry any more! Try to think as I do, that God will take care of Theodore. I know how dearly you love him, but don't give way, and anticipate all sorts of misfortunes befalling him."

"When I think of the dear lamb by himself, with his hand in that gin, and suffering horribly, as I know he did, it almost breaks my heart!" Jane declared with a sob; "and now to think he can't be found!"

"But he will be," Mrs. Barton told her reassuringly; "I do really believe he is in safety now!"

Jane sighed deeply, but she dried her tears. After her mistress had gone downstairs, she stole softly into Jack's room, and found him sleeping the heavy sleep of utter exhaustion. She dropped on her knees by the bedside, and prayed fervently that God would restore her other little charge to her care. She had forgotten that Theodore had ever worried her, had ever been troublesome or disobedient; she remembered only his good qualities, his brave spirit, his warm loving heart; and it wrung her faithful soul to think of him lost—disappeared in so short a while, and in such a mysterious way.

"God bless him! God keep him, and send him home again!" were the words she kept repeating; and presently she arose from her knees, and went downstairs, her spirit calmed, to await with her mistress whatever news might come.