"Well, they'd KNOW... I'll show it, of course. If it should turn out... Emily, you're an uncanny creature."
"Don't talk of it... I can't bear it," said Emily, shuddering.
There was no one in the kitchen when then entered it, but presently a young man came in... evidently the Dr. McIntyre of whom Mrs. Hollinger had spoken. He had a pleasant, clever face, with keen eyes behind his glasses, but he looked tired and sad.
"Good-morning," he said. "I hope you had a good rest and were not disturbed in any way. We are all sadly upset here, of course."
"They haven't found the little boy?" asked Ilse.
Dr. McIntyre shook his head.
"No. They have given up the search. He cannot be living yet... after Tuesday night and last night. The swamp will not give up its dead... I feel sure that is where he is. My poor sister is broken- hearted. I am sorry your visit should have happened at such a sorrowful time, but I hope Mrs. Hollinger has made you comfortable. Grandmother McIntyre would be quite offended if you lacked for anything. She was very famous for her hospitality in her day. I suppose you haven't seen her. She does not often show herself to strangers."
"Oh, we have seen her," said Emily absently. "She came into our room this morning and told us how she spanked the King."
Dr. McIntyre laughed a little.
"Then you have been honoured. It is not to every one Grandmother tells that tale. She's something of an Ancient Mariner and knows her predestined listeners. She is a little bit strange. A few years ago her favourite son, my Uncle Neil, met his death in the Klondyke under sad circumstances. He was one of the Lost Patrol. Grandmother never recovered from the shock. She has never FELT anything since... feeling seems to have been killed in her. She neither loves nor hates nor fears nor hopes... she lives entirely in the past and experiences only one emotion... a great pride in the fact that she once spanked the King. But I am keeping you from your breakfast... here comes Mrs. Hollinger to scold me."
"Wait a moment please, Dr. McIntyre," said Ilse hurriedly. "I... you... we... there is something I want to show you."
Dr. McIntyre bent a puzzled face over the Jimmy-book.
"What is this? I don't understand... "
"We don't understand it, either... Emily drew it in her sleep."
"In her sleep?" Dr. McIntyre was too bewildered to be anything but an echo.
"She MUST have. There was nobody else... unless your Grandmother can draw."
"Not she. And she never saw this house... it's the Scobie cottage below Malvern Bridge, isn't it?"
"Yes. We saw it yesterday."
"But Allan can't be THERE... it's been locked for a month... the carpenters went away in August."
"Oh... I know," stammered Emily. "I was thinking so much of Allan before I went to sleep... I suppose it's only a dream... I don't understand it at all... but we HAD to show it to you."
"Of course. Well, I won't say anything to Will or Clara about it. I'll get Rob Mason from over the hill and we'll run down and have a look around the cottage. It would be odd if... but it couldn't possibly be. I don't see how we can get into the cottage. It's locked and the windows are shuttered."
"This one... over the front door... isn't."
"No... but that's a closet window at the end of the upstairs hall. I was over the house one day in August when the painters were at work in it. The closet shuts with a spring lock, so I suppose that is why they didn't put a shutter on that window. It's high up, close to the ceiling, I remember. Well, I'll slip over to Rob's and see about this. It won't do to leave any stone unturned."
Emily and Ilse ate what breakfast they could, thankful that Mrs. Hollinger let them alone, save for a few passing remarks as she came and went at work.
"Turrible night last night... but the rain is over. I never closed an eye. Pore Clara didn't either, but she's quieter now... sorter despairing. I'm skeered for her mind... her Grandmother never was right after she heard of HER son's death. When Clara heard they weren't going to search no more she screamed once and laid down on the bed with her face to the wall... hain't stirred since. Well, the world has to go on for other folks. Help yourselves to the toast. I'd advise ye not to be in too much of a hurry starting out till the wind dries the mud a bit."
"I'm not going to go until we find out if... " whispered Ilse inconclusively.
Emily nodded. She could not eat, and if Aunt Elizabeth or Aunt Ruth had seen her they would have sent her to bed at once with orders to stay there... and they would have been quite right. She had almost reached her breaking-point. The hour that passed after Dr. McIntyre's departure seemed interminable. Suddenly they heard Mrs. Hollinger, who was washing milk-pails at the bench outside the kitchen door, give a sharp exclamation. A minute later she rushed into the kitchen, followed by Dr. McIntyre, breathless from his mad run from Malvern Bridge.
"Clara must be told first," he said. "It is her right."
He disappeared into the inner room. Mrs. Hollinger dropped into a chair, laughing and crying.
"They've found him... they've found little Allan... on the floor of the hall closet... in the Scobie cottage!"
"Is... he... living?" gasped Emily.
"Yes, but no more... he couldn't even speak... but he'll come round with care, the doctor says. They carried him to the nearest house... that's all the doctor had time to tell me."
A wild cry of joy came from the bedroom... and Clara Bradshaw, with dishevelled hair and pallid lips, but with the light of rapture shining in her eyes, rushed through the kitchen... out and over the hill. Mrs. Hollinger caught up a coat and ran after her. Dr. McIntyre sank into a chair.
"I couldn't stop her... -and I'm not fit for another run yet... but joy doesn't kill. It would have been cruel to stop her, even if I could."
"Is little Allan all right?" asked Ilse.
"He will be. The poor kid was at the point of exhaustion, naturally. He wouldn't have lasted for another day. We carried him right up to Dr. Matheson at the Bridge and left him in his charge. He won't be fit to be brought home before to-morrow."
"Have you any idea how he came to be there?"
"Well, he couldn't tell us anything, of course, but I think I know how it happened. We found a cellar window about half an inch open. I fancy that Allan was poking about the house, boy fashion, and found that this window hadn't been fastened. He must have got entrance by it, pushed it almost shut behind him and then explored the house. He had pulled the closet door tight in some way and the spring lock made him a prisoner. The window was too high for him to reach or he might have attracted attention from it. The white plaster of the closet wall is all marked and scarred with his vain attempts to get up to the window. Of course, he must have shouted, but nobody has ever been near enough the house to hear him. You know, it stands in that bare little cove with nothing near it where a child could be hidden, so I suppose the searchers did not pay much attention to it. They didn't search the river banks until yesterday, anyhow, because it was never thought he would have gone away down there alone, and by yesterday he was past calling for help."
"I'm so... happy... since he's found," said Ilse, winking back tears of relief.
Grandfather Bradshaw suddenly poked his head out of the sitting- room doorway.
"I told ye a child COULDN'T be lost in the nineteenth century," he chuckled.
"He WAS lost, though," said Dr. McIntyre, "and he wouldn't have been found... in time... if it were not for this young lady. It's a very extraordinary thing."
"Emily is... psychic," said Ilse, quoting Mr. Carpenter.
"Psychic! Humph! Well, it's curious... very. I don't pretend to understand it. Grandmother would say it was second sight, of course. Naturally, she's a firm believer in that, like all the Highland folk."