Beyond the fact that this proved that the children intended to run away, it was a useless find, and, in spite of a most diligent search, the boys were not heard of. After a time, people generally believed that they had been tempted to clamber down to the water, and had fallen in. The Kelmer is full of deep holes, and is known as a river that seldom gives up a victim. Jacob, when he heard this conclusion spoken of, remarked that he had always said that the boys were drowned. Mansfield, Lord Beaucourt's man, who was present, replied— "It is well for you that the old woman at the lodge declared that the boys were not with you when you passed the gate." "Why?" asked Jacob, after a pause for meditation. "Well, as they were seen alive on the road, and did not go out with you, don't you see that there can be no suspicion that you made away with them, though you were so queer about them that first night?" Jacob considered this gravely, and then said, "Any man that says that I would do the like, I shall be obliged to see whether his fist or mine is the heaviest. They were pretty boys, and Frank had a lot of pluck. But I always said they were drowned," he concluded defiantly. Mansfield shrugged his shoulders and said no more. Where were the boys all this time? Not drowned in the Kelmer, at all events. The poor little couple had wandered on all that day, very happy in the freedom they had gained so easily. The bread they bought at a tiny village seemed to them the sweetest they had tasted since they left "muddie." They reached Rugeley, to which this hilly and devious old road led in a roundabout fashion, peculiar to old roads, about an hour after Jacob left the station with the cart. As they drew near, meaning to ask the first man they met to send them back to Liverpool, they heard a loud, rough voice from a room in the station call out, "Here's another parcel for Kelmersdale. Is that man Jacob gone yet?" Not waiting for the reply, the boys fled as fast as tired out little legs would go. In their fright they passed the gate by which they had entered, running on all the way down the long platform until they reached the end of it. It was a raised platform ending abruptly, and in the twilight they very nearly fell off, stopping but just in time. They looked round and saw—or fancied they saw—a man coming after them. At a siding stood a couple of vans, waiting there to be joined to the goods train from the north presently; one door was open. "In here, Fred," cried Frank, quickly. In they clambered, sat down on some sacks of wool behind the door, and listened. Yes, a man came and put a big box in through the door, which he then shut. The boys were in utter darkness, but the sacks were soft; that is, the wool was, and they were tired. So very soon they were fast asleep. Fred lying along the sacks with his head on Frank's knee, Frank's arms round him, and Frank's voice murmuring in his sleep—