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Clarence, however, when questioned, declared, “I haven’t seen the little shaver since dinner.” “I knew it!” Billy panted feverishly. “The Ha’nt!” Heedless of the dog running with his nose close to the ground, Billy rushed on. His shirt was torn, his trousers hanging by one suspender, his shoes cut and one tap turned back. Ashes whitened his hair; though at the back a dark mat was still damp from oozing blood,—the handkerchief that had bound it had been torn off by a twitching twig. His smarting eyes watered so that he could hardly see his way. Yet of all this he was unconscious. Weariness, pain, his cracked and bleeding lips,—he knew nothing of them, felt nothing. As Clarence depicted the terror of the father, lest his arrow miss the mark and kill his son, Moses rose from his chair in breathless suspense. However, the arrow cleft the apple and left the boy unscathed, and the relieved Moses, sinking back in his chair, recovered himself sufficiently to murmur “What an orful chanct fer anyone ter take!”.

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Moses Wopp, not quite reconciled to this unexpected order of things, as it seemed to involve a protracted fast for his already clamoring stomach, nevertheless made haste to obey his father’s instructions. Josh and Jake were quickly unhitched and led into the stable. They were accommodated with a mangerful of hay, which they immediately fell to munching. Moses then ran after Mr. Wopp and Clarence, who were already busily searching the wooded banks of the creek, thoroughly scrutinizing the underbrush, which in some places was exceedingly dense and tangled. Within the next half-hour they were joined by four other men, despatched by Mrs. Mifsud, and the whole party proceeded slowly and carefully down the creek, some one of the number occasionally shouting the name of the lost boy. “This is like the cup I had at Mrs. Newman’s, in Calgary,” said Betty, then turning to Nell she asked, “Do you ’member the lovely chiner cups at Mrs. Newman’s, time Mr. Zalhamber was there?” All this time Mr. Wopp had carried and brushed and shaken stove-pipe lengths until his face and bald head resembled a latticework trellis. Only one length remained to be operated on before proceeding to the upper storey, where the stove-pipe continued its tortuous way to the chimney, warming sundry rooms on its beneficent course. “Aw Mosey,” cried Betty, “give it to him in two pieces an’ make him twict as happy.”.