“Search parties were out all night, but could find no trace or tidings of him.” “Have you any idea what has happened?” asked Alan. Slater gave a quick look at each in turn, and then muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and the boys had to be content with that. It was a terrible day at the mine for the two boys; they had to partake of their midday meal in silence, for not one of the colliers addressed a word to them if he could possibly avoid it. They were regarded with suspicion mingled with fear, and the “Curse” seemed to be on every one’s lips. Two days passed—a week, a fortnight; still Dan Murlock’s baby was not found, and at last the broken-hearted parents appeared at church in mourning, thus acknowledging to the world that they had given up all hope of ever seeing their little one again. Murlock was silent about it all, but every one who knew him realized that he was a changed man. He had idolized his wife and child, and at one blow had lost both, for his baby was without doubt dead; and his wife had turned from him in the throes of her grief. The weeks passed on, Christmas was nigh upon them, and the child was spoken of in hushed tones as one speaks of the dead. The two boys were treated as aliens by the men, and they were beginning to chafe under their treatment. Although nothing had been said openly, they knew instinctively that they were blamed by the superstitious inhabitants for the disappearance of the baby. “Alan,” said Desmond one day, as they were sitting apart from the rest eating their dinner, “I can’t stand this. I am going to speak to the men.” “Stand what?” asked Alan wearily. “Why the whispers and sneers that are showered on us whenever we are near them. They all shrink away from us—treat us as if we were lepers; even Slater avoids us, and the ‘Curse’ is whispered from lip to lip as we pass.” “You’ll do no good, Desmond.” “We had nothing to do with the child’s going away, yet they treat us as if we had murdered him.” “Leave it alone,” said Alan, “I don’t know what it is, but this place seems uncanny. I think I am almost beginning to believe in the ‘Curse’ myself.” Desmond made no reply, but squaring his shoulders, began to walk toward the miners. “Look here, you fellows,” he began. “What’s wrong with you all? Why are you treating my cousin and me as if we were murderers? We aren’t responsible for Murlock’s little child vanishing away.”