Marilla shook her head.

“I’ve hunted the whole house through.  But she may be in some of the buildings.”

A thorough search followed.  Every corner of house, yard, and outbuildings was ransacked by those two distracted people.  Anne roved the orchards and the Haunted Wood, calling Dora’s name.  Marilla took a candle and explored the cellar.  Davy accompanied each of them in turn, and was fertile in thinking of places where Dora could possibly be.  Finally they met again in the yard.

“It’s a most mysterious thing,” groaned Marilla.

“Where can she be?” said Anne miserably

“Maybe she’s tumbled into the well,” suggested Davy cheerfully.

Anne and Marilla looked fearfully into each other’s eyes.  The thought had been with them both through their entire search but neither had dared to put it into words.

“She . . . she might have,” whispered Marilla.

Anne, feeling faint and sick, went to the wellbox and peered over.  The bucket sat on the shelf inside.  Far down below was a tiny glimmer of still water.  The Cuthbert well was the deepest in Avonlea.  If Dora. . . but Anne could not face the idea.  She shuddered and turned away.

“Run across for Mr. Harrison,” said Marilla, wringing her hands.

“Mr. Harrison and John Henry are both away . . . they went to town today.  I’ll go for Mr. Barry.”

Mr. Barry came back with Anne, carrying a coil of rope to which was attached a claw-like instrument that had been the business end of a grubbing fork.  Marilla and Anne stood by, cold and shaken with horror and dread, while Mr. Barry dragged the well, and Davy, astride the gate, watched the group with a face indicative of huge enjoyment.

Finally Mr. Barry shook his head, with a relieved air.

“She can’t be down there.  It’s a mighty curious thing where she could have got to, though.  Look here, young man, are you sure you’ve no idea where your sister is?”

“I’ve told you a dozen times that I haven’t,” said Davy, with an injured air.  “Maybe a tramp come and stole her.”

“Nonsense,” said Marilla sharply, relieved from her horrible fear of the well.  “Anne, do you suppose she could have strayed over to Mr. Harrison’s?  She has always been talking about his parrot ever since that time you took her over.”

“I can’t believe Dora would venture so far alone but I’ll go over and see,” said Anne.

Nobody was looking at Davy just then or it would have been seen that a very decided change came over his face.  He quietly slipped off the gate and ran, as fast as his fat legs could carry him, to the barn.

Anne hastened across the fields to the Harrison establishment in no very hopeful frame of mind.  The house was locked, the window shades were down, and there was no sign of anything living about the place.  She stood on the veranda and called Dora loudly.

Ginger, in the kitchen behind her, shrieked and swore with sudden fierceness; but between his outbursts Anne heard a plaintive cry from the little building in the yard which served Mr. Harrison as a toolhouse.  Anne flew to the door, unhasped it, and caught up a small mortal with a tearstained face who was sitting forlornly on an upturned nail keg.