All she had seen was a poor little black chimney-sweep, crying and sobbing, and going to get up the chimney again.  Of course, she was very much frightened; and no wonder.  But that was all.  The boy had taken nothing in the room; by the mark of his little sooty feet, they could see that he had never been off the hearth rug till the nurse caught hold of him.  It was all a mistake.

So Sir John told Grimes to go home, and promised him five shillings if he would bring the boy quietly up to him, without beating him, that he might be sure of the truth.  For he took it for granted, and Grimes too, that Tom had made his way home.

But no Tom came back to Mr. Grimes that evening; and he went to the police office, to tell them to look out for the boy.  But no Tom was heard of.

So Mr. Grimes came up to Harthover next day with a very sour face; but when he got there, Sir John was over the hills and far away; and Mr. Grimes had to sit in the outer servants’ hall all day, and drink strong ale to wash away his sorrows; and they were washed away long before Sir John came back.  For good Sir John had slept very badly that night; and he said to his lady, “My dear, the boy must have got over into the grouse moors, and lost himself; and he lies very heavily on my conscience, poor little lad.  But I know what I will do.”

So, at five the next morning up he got, and bade them bring his shooting pony, and the keeper to come on his pony, and the huntsman, and the first whip, and the second whip, and the underkeeper with the bloodhound in a leash—­a great dog as tall as a calf, of the colour of a gravel walk, with mahogany ears and nose, and a throat like a church bell.  They took him up to the place where Tom had gone into the wood; and there the hound lifted up his mighty voice, and told them all he knew.

Then he took them to the place where Tom had climbed the wall; and they shoved it down, and all got through.

And then the wise dog took them over the moor, and over the fells, step by step, very slowly; for the scent was a day old, you know, and very light from the heat and drought.  But that was why cunning old Sir John started at five in the morning.

And at last he came to the top of Lewthwaite Crag, and there he bayed, and looked up in their faces, as much as to say, “I tell you he is gone down here!”

They could hardly believe that Tom would have gone so far; and when they looked at that awful cliff, they could never believe that he would have dared to face it.  But if the dog said so, it must be true.

“Heaven forgive us!” said Sir John.  “If we find him at all, we shall find him lying at the bottom.”

And he slapped his great hand upon his great thigh, and said: 

“Who will go down over Lewthwaite Crag, and see if that boy is alive?  Oh, that I were twenty years younger, and I would go down myself!” And so he would have done, as well as any sweep in the country.  Then he said: