Everything that could be done was done: people were sent out in all directions, shots were fired, and a continuous outlook kept from the great tree, but without avail.
And then it grew dark, and still no sign of fair-haired little Flossie.
At eight o'clock we had supper.

It was but a sorrowful meal, and Mrs Mackenzie did not appear at it.

We three also were very silent, for in addition to our natural anxiety as to the fate of the child, we were weighed down by the sense that we had brought this trouble on the head of our kind host.

When supper was nearly at an end I made an excuse to leave the table.

I wanted to get outside and think the situation over.