The house went into a commotion. Mrs. Todhetley made for her bedroom, to see whether the earring had dropped on the floor or was lodging inside her bonnet. She shook out her grey dress, hoping it had fallen amidst the folds. Hannah searched the stairs, candle in hand; the two children were made to stand in corners for fear they should tread on it. But the search came to nothing. It seemed clear enough that the earring was not in the house. "Did you notice, Johnny, whether I had them both in my ears when we went to the school?" the mater asked. No, I did not. I had seen them sparkling when she got out of the carriage, but had not noticed them after. I went out to search the garden-path that she had traversed, and the road over to the Coneys' farm. Tod helped me, forgetting his shirts and his temper. Old Coney said he remarked the earrings while Mrs. Todhetley was talking to him, and thought how beautiful they were. That is, he had remarked _one_ of them; he was sure of that; and he thought if the other had been missing, its absence would have struck him. But that was just saying nothing; for he could not be certain that both were there. "You may hunt till to-morrow morning, and get ten lanterns to it," cried Molly, in her tart way, meeting us by the bay-tree, as we went stooping up the path again: "but you'll be none the nearer finding it. That tramp got's the earring, Master Joe." "What tramp?" demanded Tod, straightening himself. "A tramp that Master Johnny there must needs give hot ale to," returned Molly. "_I_ know what them tramps are worth. They'd pull rings out of ears with their own fingers, give 'em the chance: and perhaps this woman did, without the missis seeing her." Tod turned to me for an explanation. I gave it, and he burst into a derisive laugh, meant for me and the mater. "To think we could be taken in by such a tale as that!" he cried: "we should never see tramp, or half-crown, or perhaps the earring again." The Squire came home in the midst of the stir. He blustered a little, partly at the loss, chiefly at the encouragement of tramps, calling it astounding folly. Ordering Thomas to bring a lantern, he went stooping his old back down the path, and across to Coney's and back again; not believing any one had searched properly, and finally kicking the snow about. "It's a pity this here snow's on the ground, sir," cried Thomas. "A little thing like an earring might easily slip into it in falling." "Not a bit of it," growled the Squire. "That tramp has got the earring." "I don't believe the tramp has," I stoutly said. "I don't think she was a tramp at all: and she seemed honest. I liked her face." "There goes Johnny with his 'faces' again!" said the Squire, in laughing mockery: and Tod echoed it. "It's a good thing you don't have to buy folks by their faces, Johnny: you'd get finely sold sometimes."