Sarah, her sixth sense telling her that something was wrong, appeared simultaneously at the foot of my hammock.

"Oh, Mavis," said Peter's pretty mother, "he's lost! He's been gone two hours, and we've been everywhere!"

Loretta, her ap.r.o.n over her kinky head, rocked to and fro.

I looked at Sarah.

"Have you seen him?" I asked, my heart standing very still.

"No, Miss Mavis."

Except for the sound of Loretta's noisy weeping, we were quite quiet.

"_The Black Pond!_" said Mrs. Goodrich, in a whisper.

"Don't!" said Sarah and I together.

For the Black Pond, Diary, up the road, is a wicked sheet of water, depthless and sinister.

I have never cursed my helplessness as I did then.

"Perhaps Jimmy Simpson ..." I began. But Mrs. Goodrich interrupted me.

"Loretta has been to the Simpsons', Mavis. Jimmy is off with Sammy somewhere. No one has seen or heard of Peter since this morning. And we have not seen him since luncheon."

"Where's Father?" I asked, looking at Sarah.

"Somewhere's with Doctor Denton," she answered. And as she did so, a gay whistle reached me from the direction of our gate.

"Perhaps that's Father now." I said hopefully. But it was only Doctor Bill, hatless, coatless, swinging up the path and cutting across to us.

"Miss Carroll," he said smiling, "your father asked me to tell you ..." and then, "Why, what's the matter?"

He looked from one to the other, and it was Sarah who answered.

"It's Peter, Doctor. He's lost."

"Lost! Nonsense. He couldn't get lost here. Every one in Green Hill knows the little chap. Where have you looked?" he asked Mrs. Goodrich.

"Everywhere. And telephoned every house for miles. His father is in town, you know. Oh...." she broke off incoherently, "I can never forgive myself--my baby--"

The doctor's hand was on her, quieting, soothing.

"Mustn't break down, Mrs. Goodrich. Suppose you sit here for a bit with Miss Carroll and get your breath. We'll find the boy, won't we, Wiggles?" The dog jumped at the sound of his name in the beloved voice, and began chasing his tail in an ecstasy of showing off.

Dr. Denton beckoned Sarah, spoke to her in a low voice, and I heard her answer, "Yes sir," before she left the group and went toward the house, taking Loretta with her.

"Who saw him last?" asked the doctor cheerfully, sitting down with Wiggles on his knee.

"Michel, our chauffeur. Peter was with him in the barn right after lunch."

"And where is Michel now?"

"He went with several of the men on the place to search," said Mrs.

Goodrich. "I think--they didn't tell me, but I think they mean to drag the pond--" She went to pieces there. But it was only for a moment, for Sarah appeared again, with a gla.s.s of something. Dr. Benton took it from her.

"Drink this," he said quietly, his hand on Mrs. Goodrich's shoulder.

Watching him, I suddenly knew that it would be all right; that Peter was not really lost, but only mislaid; that we would all be spared a cruel and terrible sorrow. He seemed to read my mind, for he nodded at me and said, smiling, "That's better, Miss Carroll."

Sometimes I think that the man is really a magician.

It was perhaps ten minutes later that Michel appeared through the hedge. Mrs. Goodrich, rather dangerously calm, I thought, got to her feet.

"Well?" she breathed.

The chauffeur shook his head.

"No trace, ma'am. The boys are still looking...."

"The Black Pond...?" she asked, in a whisper, one hand at her throat.

"They're down there now."

"Ah!"

She was at Dr. Denton's side now, her hands on his arm. "Please help us." Her eyes sought his.

"I'm going to do my best," he answered. "Michel, did Peter say anything to you in the barn about going out to play?"

The Irishman's face corrugated in an effort to remember.

"No, doctor, sor. Not that I mind. He came out, the lad, to ask me what makes cars go fast."

"What?"

It was I who spoke. The foot race of two days before flashed suddenly into my mind, and the last thing I had heard Peter say, "But Jimmy, what makes you go so fast?"

"What did you tell him?" I asked eagerly.

"Well," Michel scratched his red head, "I told him the gasoline, Miss Mavis, just to keep him quiet."

In a word I told the others about the race and Peter's disappointment.

"You don't suppose," I finished, hesitating, "that he tried to...."

"Drink gasoline?" concluded Dr. Benton thoughtfully.

We all looked at Michel.