"There, Reginald," said she, panting, "I think my darling was here this
afternoon; yes, yes, he must; for he had a key of the door, and it is
open."
"All right," said Reginald; "come into the field."
He ran about like a dog hunting, and soon found marks among the
cowslips.
"Somebody has been gathering a nosegay here to-day," said he; "now,
mamma, there's only two ways put of this field--let us go straight to
that gate; that is the likeliest."
Near the gate was some clay, and Reginald showed her several prints of
small feet.
"Look," said he, "here's the track of two--one's a gal; how I know,
here's a sole to this shoe no wider nor a knife. Come on."
In the next field he was baffled for a long time; but at last he found
a place in a dead hedge where they had gone through.
"See," said he, "these twigs are fresh broken, and here's a bit of the
gal's frock. Oh! won't she catch it?":
"Oh, you brave, clever boy!" cried Lady Bassett.
"Come on!" shouted the urchin.
He hunted like a beagle, and saw like a bird, with his savage,
glittering eye. He was on fire with the ardor of the chase; and, not to
dwell too long on what has been so often and so well written by others,
in about an hour and a half he brought the anxious, palpitating, but
now hopeful mother, to the neighborhood of Bassett's wood.
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