He knocked, knocked loudly. No answer. He went to a side door, to the
front entrance, and found the whole house locked, and no key to be
discovered. It was still early in the morning, earlier than Blossy would
have been likely to set out upon an errand or to spend the day; and
then, too, she was not one to risk her health in such chilly, damp
weather, with every sign of a heavy storm.

Samuel became alarmed. He called sharply, "Blossy!" No answer. "Mis'
Rose!" No answer. "Ezra!" And still no sound in reply.

His alarm increased. He went to the barn; that was locked and Ezra
nowhere in sight. By standing on tiptoe, however, and peeping through a
crack in the boards, he found that his horse and the two-seated surrey
were missing.

"Waal, I never," grumbled Samuel, conscious once more of all his
physical discomforts. "The minute my back's turned, they go
a-gallivantin'. I bet yer," he added after a moment's thought, "I bet
yer it's that air Angy Rose. She's got ter git an' gad every second same
as Abe, an' my poor wife has been drug along with her."

There was nothing left for him to do but seek refuge in his shop and
await their return. Like nearly every other bayman, he had a one-room
shanty, which he called the "shop," and where he played at building
boats, and weaving nets, and making oars and tongs.

This structure stood to the north of the house, and fortunately had an
old, discarded kitchen stove in it. There, if the wanderers had not
taken that key also, he could build a fire, and stretch out before it on
a bundle of sail-cloth.