"Halloo--oo!" I shouted. The answering shriek of the wind in the
trees overhead chilled my very heart.

"What has become of Mr. Jones?" asked my wife, and there was almost
anguish in her tone, while Winnie and Bobsey were actually crying
aloud.

"Well, my dear," I tried to say, reassuringly, "even if he were very
near to us we could neither see nor hear him."

Moments passed which seemed like ages, and I scarcely knew what to
do. The absence of all signs of Mr. Jones filled me with a nameless
and unspeakable dread. Could anything have happened to him? Could he
have lost his way and fallen into some hole or over some steep bank?
If I drove on, we might tumble after him and perish, maimed and
frozen, in the wreck of the wagon. One imagines all sorts of
horrible things when alone and helpless at night.

"Papa," cried Merton, "I'll get out and look for Mr. Jones."

"You are a good, brave boy," I replied. "No; you hold the reins, and
I'll look for him and see what is just before us."

At that moment there was a glimmer of light off to the left of us.




CHAPTER XIII