to take her part, and cautious John suggested that it might not be so bad as his mother feared.  To be sure, he didn’t know how hard Dick and Ethie might have spatted it, or what had gone before; but anyway his advice would be to wait and see if she was not really at Mrs. Amsden’s, or somewhere else.  Richard let them manage it for him.  He was powerless to act then, and stunned and silent he sat shivering by the stove, which they made red-hot with the blocks of wood they put in, hoping thus to warm him.  There was no more sleep at the farmhouse that night, though James and John went back to bed, and Andy, too, crept up to his lonely room; but not to sleep.  His heart was too full for that, and kneeling by his wooden chair, he prayed for Ethie—­that she had not run away, but might be at Mrs. Amsden’s, where he was going for her himself the moment the morning broke.  He had claimed this privilege, and his mother had granted it, knowing that many allowances would be made for whatever Andy might say, and feeling that, on this account, he would do better than either of his brothers.  Richard, of course, could not go.  He scarcely had strength to move, and did not look up from his stooping posture by the stove, when, at day-dawn, Andy drew on his butternut overcoat, and tying a thick comforter about his neck, started for Mrs. Amsden’s.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE INVESTIGATION

Richard knew she was not there—­at least all the probabilities were against it; and still he clung to the vague hope that Andy would bring him some good news, and his thoughts went after the brother whose every breath was a prayer, as he galloped over the snowy ground toward Mrs. Amsden’s.  They were early risers there, and notwithstanding the sun was just coming up the eastern sky, the family were at breakfast when Andy’s horse stopped before their gate, and Andy himself knocked at their door for admission.  Andy’s faith was great—­so great that, in answer to his petitions, he fully expected to see Ethie herself at the table, when the door was opened, and he caught a view of the occupants of the dining room; but no Ethie was there, nor had been, as they said, in answer to his eager questionings.

“What made you think she was here?  When did she go away?  Was she intending to visit me?” Mrs. Amsden asked.

But Andy, while praying that Ethie might be there, had also asked that if she were not, “he needn’t make a fool of himself, nor let the cat out of the bag,” and he didn’t; he merely replied: 

“She left home a few days ago.  Dick was in St. Louis, and it was lonesome stayin’ alone.  I’ll find her, most likely, as she is somewhere else.”

Andy was in his saddle now, and his fleet steed fled swiftly along toward home, where they waited so anxiously for him, Richard tottering to the window so as to read his fate in Andy’s tell-tale face.

“She is not there.  I knew she was not.  She has gone with that villain.”