ld fellow, "but things is pretty serious down
there!" He jerked his hand over his shoulder. "There's some little
fellers,--four or five of 'em!--seems they took a boat to-day, to go
ducking, and they're lost in the tide-marsh! My God--an' I never
thought of the dance!" He gave a despairing glance at the quiet street.
"I come here to get twenty men--or thirty--for the search!" he said
heavily. "I don't know what to do, now!"

Mary Bell had turned very white.

"There isn't a soul here, Stumpy!" she said, terrified eyes on his
face. "There isn't a man in town! What CAN we do!--Say!" she cried
suddenly, springing to the seat, "drive me over to Mrs. Rowe's; she's
married to Chess Bates, you know, at the store. Go on, Stumpy! What
boys are they?"

"I know the Turner boys and the Dickey boy is three of 'em," said the
old man, "and Henderson's own boy, Davy--poor leetle feller!--and Buddy
Hopper, and the Adams boy. They had a couple of guns, and they was all
in this boat of Hopper's, poking round the marsh, and it began to look
like rain, and got dark. Well, she was shipping a little water, and
Hopper and Adams wanted to tie her to the edge and walk up over the
marsh, but the other fellers wanted to go on round the point. So Adams
and Hopper left 'em, and come over the marsh, and walked to the point,
but she wasn't there. Well, they waited and hallooed, but bimeby they
got scared, and come flying up to Henderson's, and Henderson and
me--there ain't another man there to-night!--we run down to the marsh,
and yelled, but us two couldn't do nothing! Tide's due at eleven, and
it's going to rain, so I left him, and come in for some men.
Henderson's just about crazy! They lost a boy in that tide-marsh a
while back."

"It's too awful,--it's just murder to let 'em go there!" said Mary
Bell, heart-sick. For no dragon of old ever claimed his prey more
regularly than did the terrible pools and quicksands of the great marsh.

Mrs. Bates was practical. Her old face blanched, but she began to plan
instantly.

"Don't cry, Mary Bell!" said she; "this thing is in God's hands. He can
save the poor little fellers jest as easy with a one-legged man as he
could with a hundred hands. You drive over to the depot, Stumpy, and
tell the operator to plug away at Barville until he gets some one to
take a message to Pitcher's barn. It'll be a good three hours before
they even git this far," she continued doubtfully, as the old man
eagerly rattled aw