And Mr. Bruce read it again, and then pa.s.sed it over to her to read for herself.

"She's somewhere close at hand, of course!" he said. "Silly child!"

"She _couldn't_ go very far, could she?" asked Mrs. Bruce, seeking comfort.

Mr. Bruce shook his head.

"One never quite knows _what_ Betty could do," he said. "She's gone to find her fortune, she says. I wonder now if that is her old crazy idea of hunting for a gold mine. No! 'My voice is my fortune,' she says. Good lord! Whom has she been talking to? What books has she been reading?"

Mrs. Bruce sighed and smiled. As no immediate danger seemed to threaten Betty, there appeared no reason for instant action. They could still take life leisurely, as they had done all their married days. It was only madcap Betty who ever tried to hurry their pace or upset the calm of their domestic sky--Betty with her ways and plans and pranks.

So Mrs. Bruce leaned back on the verandah post.

"Where one has only _one_ child," she said, "life must be a simple matter. It is when there are several of several ages that the difficulty comes in. Now we, for instance, need to be--just a year old--and six years old--and twelve and seventeen--all in addition to our own weight of years."

Her husband smiled. "You do very well," he said. "I saw you playing with Baby this morning, and I've heard you and Dot talk, and could have imagined she had a school-friend here."

"Dot--yes! But Betty--no!"

"Betty is at an awkward age," said Mr. Bruce. "I confess _I_ know very little of her. What is her _singing_ voice like? I think, dear, you'd better give me a list of the clothing she has on, and I'll go down the road and make a few inquiries."

The only dress they could discover "missing," to Mrs. Bruce's horror, was the tattered Sat.u.r.day frock. And Mary found the boots and stockings under the dressing-table, so the conviction that she had gone barefoot was forced upon them.

At twelve o'clock Cyril was startled to see his father enter the schoolroom, and he observed that Mr. Sharman shook hands with him in a very affable manner, which was, of course, very condescending of Mr.

Sharman. In fact, it led Cyril to hope for leniency from him in the looming arithmetic lesson.

A low voiced conversation took place, and then Cyril was called down to the desk and questioned closely about his truant sister.

But of course Cyril knew nothing.

Then another very strange thing happened.

While Mr. Bruce and Mr. Sharman and Cyril were standing in the middle of the floor--Cyril feeling covered with glory from his father's and Mr.

Sharman's intimacy in the eyes of the whole school--another shadow darkened the doorway. And the other shadow belonged to no smaller a person than Captain Carew, of Dene Hall, Willoughby, N.S. Wales.

Miss Sharman went out to meet him before the little trio knew he was there, and his hearty "Good morning, ma'am! I've come for news of that young scapegrace, my grandson, John Brown," filled the room.

Whereat Mr. Bruce turned round, and he and the captain faced each other, and Cyril, in great fear, looked up to see if Arthur Smedley, the dread bully, had heard how the great captain of Dene Hall had absolutely, and in the hearing of the whole school acknowledged John Brown to be his grandson, and had not so much as glanced at Cyril, who stood there quite close to him.

It was the first time for more than seventeen years that Captain Carew and Mr. Bruce had been so close together, despite the fact that the fences of their respective properties were within sight of each other.

To-day Captain Carew grew a deep dark-red from his neck to the top of his forehead, and Mr. Bruce went quite white and held his head very high.

And Mr. Sharman drew back nervously, for he, like most other people, knew all about the relationship of these two men to each other, and about their deadly feud.

But the captain strode down the room, just as though he owned Mr. and Miss Sharman and every boy in the school, and he raised his voice somewhat as he repeated his statement about his grandson, "John Brown."

"And if you'll kindly excuse Cyril, I'll take him with me," said Mr.

Bruce quietly, continuing his sentence, just as if no interruption had occurred at all.

In the playground Cyril received his commands, glad indeed to have them to execute instead of the arithmetic lesson and play-hour which the ordinary happenings of life would have brought about.

"Go into the bush," said his father, "and search there for her. Look everywhere where you are accustomed to play. She may have fallen down somewhere and hurt herself."

"Yes, father," said the boy obediently. "How'd it be to see if she's fallen in the creek?"

His father gave him an angry look.

"Afterwards go home," he said. "Let the creek alone, and don't talk such folly--Betty is more than five. Tell your mother I'm going to give it into the hands of the police."

Cyril went into the bush--not very far--because the growth was thick, and he had a great dread of snakes.

"S'pose I were bitten," he said, "and I just had to stay here by myself and die! Wonder where Betty is; it's very silly of her to go and lose herself like this. _I_ never lose myself at all."

He came to a two-rail fence, and climbed up and sat on one of its posts, and then he looked around as far as the bush would let him see.

"It's better to keep near a fence," he said. "Then if a bull comes, you're safe. If he jumped over I could roll under, and we could keep doing it, an' he couldn't catch me.... 'Tis silly of Betty to get lost.

_I_ wouldn't get lost. You never know how many bulls and things there are about."

He looked round again, and then he climbed down and ran back to the road.

"I'll go home now," he said, "I can't find Betty anywhere. I've looked and looked. And school will be out soon, and how do I know Arthur Smedley took his lunch to-day; he might be coming home."

Whereat this valiant youth looked over his shoulder, and saw the boys running out of the school gate. So he took to his heels and ran home as fast as ever he could.

CHAPTER XVII

IN THE CITY

The fortune seekers were set down at a street corner near the Quay at half-past six.

When it had come to the matter of crossing the harbour, from the Northern Sh.o.r.e to the Quay, in the punt (they two sitting in the cart the while), they had found themselves called upon to pay a penny each for the pa.s.sage over, which they had enjoyed amazingly. Betty paid both pennies, having the coppers, but she urged John to be quick and get his shilling changed to pay her back.

At the street corner John suggested leaving her for awhile. "This would be as good a corner as any other for you, Betty," he said, and slapped the shutters of a chemist's shop as he spoke, "You stand here, and you'll catch everybody who goes by."

"There's no one going by yet," said Betty. "What are you going to do?

You're not going to leave me all alone?"

"Well," said John, "we might stick together a bit longer, anyway. I'll come back for you. You sing your song, and I'll just go and see if any shops want a boy. I don't suppose the offices are opened yet. What I'd like is a good warehouse, and then I'd rise to be manager, and partner.

That's the sort of thing. I don't think there's much in a shop after all, but I'll have to find out where the warehouses are. A tea warehouse is good, _I_ can tell you. You get sent out to India for the firm, and then come back and are made a partner."

He started off, only to be stopped after he had gone a few steps, by Betty's voice calling, "Get your shilling changed, I want my penny"; to which he nodded.

Betty had the corner all to herself then. Down the street, and up the street, and down the side street, whichever way she craned her neck she could see no one.