"Which," replied Furness, "as I have informed him already, will certainly be forfeited as a deodand to the lord of the manor; but, Mr Lucas, this is not all; our mutual friend, Byres, the pedlar, is also missing, having left the Cat and Fiddle last night, and not having been heard of since." "Indeed! that makes out a different case, and must be inquired into immediately. I think you were not the best of friends, were you?" said the keeper, looking at Rushbrook; and then he continued, "Come, Mary, give me my dinner, quick, and run up as fast as you can for Dick and Martin: tell them to come down with their retrievers only. Never fear, Mr Furness, we will soon find it out. Never fear, my chap, we'll find your son also, and your gun to boot. You may hear more than you think for." "All I want to know," replied Rushbrook, fiercely, for his choler was raised by the sneers of the keeper, "is, where my boy may be." So saying, he quitted the cottage, leaving the schoolmaster with the keeper. As Rushbrook returned home, he revolved in his mind what had passed, and decided that nothing could be more favourable for himself, however it might turn out for Joey. This conviction quieted his fears, and when the neighbours came in to talk with him, he was very cool and collected in his replies. In the meantime the keeper made a hasty meal, and, with his subordinates and the dogs, set off to the covers, which they beat till dark without success. The gun, however, which Joey had thrown down in the ditch, had been picked up by one of the labourers returning from his work, and taken by him to the ale-house. None could identify the gun, as Rushbrook had never permitted it to be seen. Lucas, the keeper, came in about an hour after dusk, and immediately took possession of it. Such were the events of the first day after Joey's departure. Notwithstanding that the snow fell fast, the Cat and Fiddle was, as it may be supposed, unusually crowded on that night. Various were the surmises as to the disappearance of the pedlar and of little Joey. The keeper openly expressed his opinion that there was foul play somewhere, and it was not until near midnight that the ale-house was deserted, and the doors closed. Rushbrook and his wife went to bed; tired with watching and excitement, they found oblivion for a few hours in a restless and unrefreshing sleep. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A CORONER'S INQUEST. Day had scarcely dawned when the keeper and his satellites were again on the search. The snow had covered the ground for three or four inches, and, as the covers had been well examined on the preceding day, they now left them and went on in the direction towards where the gun had been picked up. This brought them direct to the furze bottom, where the dogs appeared to quicken their movements, and when the keepers came up with them again, they found them lying down by the frozen and stiffened corpse of the pedlar.