This view, at the worst, was a favorable one, and behind it rose the phantoms that caused all to shudder with a dread which they dared not utter.

Only a short distance farther they came upon another path which diverged from the side of the road, returning a little ways beyond.  There, an unusually careful search was made, and Nick almost split his cheeks in his efforts to send his penetrating whistle throughout the surrounding country.  The three men also called out the name of Nellie in their loudest tones, but nothing except the hollow echoes came back to them.

Nick examined the face of his father’s watch by the light of the lantern he carried, and saw that it lacked but a few minutes of nine.  They had been searching for the lost child, as this proved, for nearly two hours.

“It seems to me,” said Mr. Layton, as the party came to a halt, “that we are not likely to accomplish anything by hunting in this aimless fashion.”

“What better can we do?” asked Mr. Kilgore.

“Thus far we have been forced to confine ourselves to the road, excepting when we diverge a few feet:  this renders our work about the same as if done by a single person.  What I propose, therefore, is that we separate.”

“How will that help us?”

“It may not, but we shall cover three or four times the amount of space (I judge Mrs. Ribsam would prefer to remain with her husband and son on account of the single lantern), and it follows that some one of us must pass closer to the spot where Nellie is lying.”

This seemed a sensible suggestion, and the two men turned to the afflicted father to learn what he thought of it.

He shook his head.

“Not yet,—­not yet; we goes a leetle furder.”

Nothing was added by way of explanation, and yet even little Nick knew why he had protested:  he wished that all might keep together until they reached the creek.  If nothing was learned of his child there, then he would follow the plan of the teacher.

But something seemed to whisper to the parent that the place where they would gain tidings of little Nellie was near that dark, flowing water, which, like such streams, seemed to be always reaching out for some one to strangle in its depths.

“Perhaps Mr. Ribsam is right,” said the teacher, after a silence which was oppressive even though brief; “we will keep each other’s company, for it is lonely work tramping through the woods, where there is no beaten path to follow.”

Thereupon the strange procession resumed its march toward the distant town of Dunbarton, pausing at short intervals to call and signal to the missing one.

It was a vast relief to all that the weather continued so mild and pleasant.  In the earlier part of the day there were some signs of an approaching storm, but the signs had vanished and the night was one of the most pleasant seen in September.

Had the rain begun to fall, or had the temperature lowered, the mother would have been distracted, for nothing could have lessened the pangs caused by her knowledge that her darling one was suffering.  The true mother lives for her children, and their joys and sorrows are hers.