Lincoln County leader. [volume] (Toledo, Lincoln County, Or.) 1893-1987, 1904-07-29

busy. She called Annie, but got no an
swes; she searched the cottage, but fail
ed to find her. Several hours passed
away. She went down to the village
and made several inquiries, but with no
result. Annie had not been seen by any
one that day.
Having told her tale, my aun looked
at me, hoping that / might be able TO
say her fears for her child were inbound
ed. l could not; the utmost l could do
was to counsel silence, and TO try to buoy
her up with hope. l persuaded her to re-
turn home. But the day was finished
for me. l could do nothing but think
Of Annie; the worst fears struggled to
take possession Of me, but l diligently
thrust them away. l would not believe
Ill of my cousin.
About five o'clock my uncle came up
from the mine, and l proposed that we
should knock off work for the day. He
was in singularly good spirits. AS We
drew near to the cottage, my heart beat
painfully, and when we vent in l looked
~anxiously about me.
"Whar be the little woman?" asked
my uncle, as we sat down to our meal.
l saw my aunt's face grow very pale,
but she turned her head and answered as
carelessly as possible.
She be GAVIN out"
When the meal was over my uncle,
according to his usual custom, went to
his seat beside the fire and lit his pipe.
He had been smoking for an hour or
more, when a knock came to the kitchen
door; then the door was opened, and in
came John Rudd. He had a parcel for
my aunt, which he delivered; he chatted
for a few minutes, then he prepared to
go. His hand was on the latch Of the
door, when he paused and looked back.
Say, missus," said he, "whar be Miss
Awnie GAVIN to-"
My uncle looked up curiously; my
aunt's checks grew as white as new-fall-
en- snow.
"Whar be she GAVIN tor she repeated,
helplessly.
'Iss!"' continued Rudd, II seen her this
marning i Falmouth, but she were in a
hurry and didn't see me. She were dawn
on the jatty, and she went aboard the
steamer for Portsmouth"
Mr.. Rudd paused, Thunderstorm at the
effect of his words. My aunt, thoroughly
exhausted by the strain that had been
put upon her that day, sank, sobbing and
moaning, into a chair; my uncle, who
had risen from his seat, stood glaring
from one to another. Presently he spoke.
What be all this about my Awnie?"
he cried. Speak, some 'un. If there
be aught wrong wi my little woman
he cried, tell me; | amt a child to be
petted, nor a fool to be kept i the dark.
Speak, tell me what it's all about"
So we told him all we knew, and put
ting this and that together, he gathered
at least one idea-that his child had, for
some reason or other, voluntarily left her
home. He stood like q man stupefed,
scarcely gathering the sense of the situa-
ton, and dimly wondering why his wife
received the news 30 violently. But
when John Rudd was gone, and we were
left to ourselves, l told them my suspi-
cions of George Redruth. To my sur
prise they were received with blank
amazement, then with indignation. My
uncle averred that l had always dis
liked the young master. I determined to
go up to Redruth's house and ascertain
If he were from home.
The moment my uncle heard of my de-
termination he resolved to
me. On asking for the master, we were
shown into the library; FIVE minutes later
the young man himself walked into the
room. He had just been dining, wore
evening dress, and had never looked
handsomer or more thoroughly at his
ease in his life.
"Well" he said, glancing at us pleas
antly-he was evidently in an after-din-
ner mood-''is there anything l can do
for either of your"
master Jarge," said my uncle, earn
estly, "we'm in trouble, sir; in sore trou-
bic. My daughter, my little Annie, she
be run'd away"
What" he exclaimed. run away
from home, do you mean? But why
come to me? What can | do?"
"Naught, you can't do naught at ALL
said my uncle, that's just it,"
The fact is, sir" l said, there is
some villain at the bottom of it, and we
want to find out who that villain is"
And so you come to me! Really,
don't see the force of all this, and | have
more important matters to detain me!''
ne Oleieu lHe uOOT, anu we, seeing
that further conversation would be use
less, left the room and the house. Dur
ing the walk home my uncle never spoke,
When we reached the cottage he sank
down into a chair, and hid his face in
his hands.
Nothing more could be done that night,
so we all went to bed; but not to sleep.
During the night | frequently heard nv
uncle walking with measured step up
and down his room, and in the grey OF
the morning he came out to the kitchen
to kindle a fire.
l looked at him and scarcely knew
him; his face was white and lined like
that of an old man. He was quite calm
but there was a sad look in his eyes
which spoke of deep-set pain.
Several days after that sad night q
letter came from Annie; il bore the Lon.