Avery searched for them in surprise.  She had sent a picnic basket down to the farm earlier in the afternoon, and she had expected to find them enjoying the contents thereof in a shady corner.  But for a time she searched in vain.

“They must have gone home,” said Piers.

But she did not believe they would have left without seeing her, and she went to the farm to make enquiries.

Here she heard that the picnic-party had taken place and that the basket had been brought back by one of the men, but for some reason the children had evidently gone home early, for they had not been seen since.

Avery wanted to run to the Vicarage and ascertain if all were well, but Piers vetoed this.

“It’s too hot,” he said.  “And you’ll only come in for some row with the Reverend Stephen.  I won’t have you go, Avery.  Stay with us!”

His tone was peremptory, and Avery realized that his assumption of authority was intentional.  A rebellious spirit awoke within her, but she checked it.  Something had gone wrong, she was sure.  He would tell her presently what it was.

She yielded therefore to his desire and remained with them.  They spent a considerable time in the neighbourhood of the farm, in all of which Crowther took a keen interest.  Avery tried to be interested too, but Piers’ behaviour troubled and perplexed her.  He seemed to be all on edge, and more than once his manner to Crowther also verged upon abruptness.

They were leaving the farm to turn homeward when there came to Avery the sound of flying feet along the lane outside.  She went to the gate, and beheld Gracie, her face crimson with heat, racing towards her.

Avery moved to meet her, surprised by her sudden appearance.  She was still more surprised when Gracie reached her, flung tempestuous arms about her, and broke into stormy crying on her breast.

“My dear!  My dear!  What has happened?” Avery asked in distress.

But Gracie was for the moment quite beyond speech.  She hung upon Avery, crying as if her heart would break.

Piers came swiftly down the path.  “Why, Pixie, what’s the matter?” he said.

He put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her gently to lean against himself, for in her paroxysm of weeping she had thrown herself upon Avery with childish unrestraint.

“Who’s been bullying you, Pixie?” he said.

“Nobody!  Nobody!” sobbed Gracie.  She transferred herself to his arms almost mechanically, so overwhelming was her woe.  “Oh, it’s dreadful!  It’s dreadful!” she cried.

He patted her soothingly, his cheek against her fair hair.  “Well, what is it, kiddie?  Let’s hear!  One of the youngsters in trouble, what?  Not Jeanie, I say?”

“No, no, no!  It’s—­Mike.”  The name came out with a great burst of tears.

“Mike!” Piers looked at Avery, mystified for the moment.  “Ah, to be sure!  The dog!  Well, what’s happened to him?  He isn’t dead, what?”