"I had better fetch her, Tod," I whispered. He nodded yes. Tod never bore malice, and I suppose he thought Hannah had had enough of a hunt for that day. I ran through the fold-yard to the ricks, and called to Lena. "You can come out now, little stupid." But no Lena answered. There were seven ricks in a group, and I went into all the openings between them. Lena was not there. It was rather odd, and I looked across the field and towards the lane and the coppice, shouting out sturdily. "Mack, have you seen Miss Lena pass indoors?" I stayed to ask him, in going back. No: Mack had not noticed her; and I went round to the front again, and whispered to Tod. "What a muff you are, Johnny! She's between the ricks fast enough. No danger that she'd come out when I told her to stay!" "But she's not there indeed, Tod. You go and look." Tod vaulted off, his long legs seeming to take flying leaps, like a deer's, on his way to the ricks. To make short of the story, Lena was gone. Lost. The house, the outdoor buildings, the gardens were searched for her, and she was not to be found. Mrs. Todhetley's fears flew to the ponds at first; but it was impossible she could have come to grief in either of the two, as they were both in view of the barn-door where I and Mack had been. Tod avowed that he had put her amid the ricks to hide her; and it was not to be imagined she had gone away. The most feasible conjecture was, that she had run from between the ricks when Hannah called to her, and was hiding in the lane. Tod was in a fever, loudly threatening Lena with unheard-of whippings, to cover his real concern. Hannah looked red, Mrs. Todhetley white. I was standing by him when the cook came up; a sharp woman, with red-brown eyes. We called her Molly. "Mr. Joseph," said she, "I have heard of gipsies stealing children." "Well?" returned Tod. "There was one at the door a while agone--an insolent one, too. Perhaps Miss Lena----" "Which way did she go?--which door was she at?" burst forth Tod. "'Twas a man, sir. He came up to the kitchen-door, and steps inside as bold as brass, asking me to buy some wooden skewers he'd cut, and saying something about a sick child. When I told him to march, that we never encouraged tramps here, he wanted to answer me, and I just shut the door in his face. A regular gipsy, if ever I see one," continued Molly; "his skin tawny and his wild hair jet-black. Maybe, in revenge, he have stole off the little miss." Tod took up the notion, and his face turned white. "Don't say anything of this to Mrs. Todhetley," he said to Molly. "We must just scour the country."