So the articles were looked out--saucepans with holes in them, handles of flat-irons, chairs without legs, old packing-cases, book covers, old advertisement sheets of old newspapers, and so forth; and a "rummage sale" was held at the Big House. The whole village attended, and, as a compliment to the Squire, bought up the articles in lots, at a few pence per lot. The Squire had never held aloof from his dependents; it being a belief that we should, to a certain extent, share our good things with our poorer brethren. But next day the Squire was rummaging and ferreting harder than ever; all over the house, from the lofts to the cellars; peering in every corner, opening every drawer, feeling in all his pockets; looking behind things, on top of things, under things, in old hat-boxes, and glove-boxes, and collar-boxes. To help at this game gave the greatest delight to his little son and heir, Master Rupert, a curly-haired, brown-eyed little person of seven years. To all offers of assistance, the Squire replied that it was not a matter of importance: he had merely mislaid his handkerchief. Such a search for a handkerchief has never been made before or since. That evening the Squire ate no dinner, but sat in his study with his head clasped between his hands, and his elbows on the table; and so he sat half through the night. Next morning he was up before dawn; and in the first grey light a thrush noticed him peering all over the paths leading from the house, travelling slowly over them step by step, and examining every inch. All that day he spent in pursuing this occupation (but putting on a lounging and purposeless air when observed) and in making calls at the houses of the villagers; and when he returned to the house, long after dinner-time, he was so changed and so haggard as to be difficult to recognise. Creeping to the night nursery, where little Rupert was asleep in his cot, the Squire tenderly took him out, bed-clothes and all, and carried him away to his study, where he placed him on the sofa, and sat close by, never removing his eyes from the child. Every now and again he would stretch out his hand and touch the child, and appear reassured on finding it warm; or he would place his ear close to its mouth, and give a sigh of relief on hearing its breathing. At every creak of the furniture and sough of the wind the Squire would start; and once he rose suddenly and hastily locked the door. Early in the morning the nurse, waking and missing the child, knocked at his door to ask whether he had taken it. And he would not open the door; but stood before little Rupert, covering him as though from some enemy, and replying that he was to remain with him.