“Yes,” Nelson was saying, “Roy has disappeared. He was left, apparently asleep, and later, when some one looked into his room, he was gone.” “Great Scott!” breathed Ned. “I thought perhaps he was dead.” “Oh, no. In that case, it wouldn’t be necessary to turn the whole village out. He’s wandering around somewhere, half dressed and probably crazy. They’re getting the people out to search for him.” “Is it necessary to turn out the whole town this way?” “Perhaps so. They’ve tried to find him, but can’t. Now they’re asking everybody to join in the search. You see, there’s no telling what the result may be if he’s not found soon. In his dotty condition he may do himself harm; and, anyhow, with only a few clothes on, he’s liable to get pneumonia.” Some of the men who had early learned the cause of the disturbance were now seen bringing lanterns, and in the midst of the gathering in the square, William Pickle, the deputy sheriff, was suggesting a plan of search, by which four parties should spread out in different directions. “You want to look everywhere, feller citizens,” the officer was saying; “look into sheds and barns and under fences, and every old nook and corner where the boy may be hidin’. He’s plumb loony, ye know, and he’s li’ble to crawl into any old place. Mebbe he’ll be scat of ye and want to fight when ye do find him, so handle him gentle.” At this juncture two men came panting down Main Street. “We know where he is!” shouted one. “We’ve seen him!” “Yep, we’ve seen him,” gulped the other. “We almost ketched him, but he got away from us somehow.” “Where is he? Where is he?” cried twenty voices. “We was goin’ up the street, lookin’ for him, and we’d almost got to the Widder Chester’s, when we see somebody scoot across the road, jump the fence and put off inter the field above Cedar Street. When we hollered for him to stop he run faster.” “And he could run some,” gasped the smaller man. “We chased him into a strip of trees and bushes, and he must be hid there right now, for we couldn’t find him.” “Come on,” commanded William Pickle, taking the lead—“come on, everybody. Show us the way, Turner and Crabtree.” Forgetting the original plan of search, the crowd poured up the main street, straggling out into a long, irregular body. Osgood, keeping close to the leaders, felt some one press against him, and recognized Billy Piper. “This is bad business,” said Piper in a low tone. “You’re right,” agreed Ned instantly. “No one can feel any worse about it than I do.” “But feeling bad,” retorted Billy grimly, “doesn’t make amends; it’s got to be something more than that.”