By the next morning all the city was in a commotion over little Ellen's disappearance.

Woods on the outskirts were being searched, ponds were being dragged, posters with a stare of dreadful meaning in large characters of black and white were being pasted all over the fences and available barns, and already three of the local editors had been to the Brewster house to obtain particulars and photographs of the missing child for reproduction in the city papers.
The first train from Boston brought two reporters representing great dailies.
Fanny Brewster, white-cheeked, with the rasped redness of tears around her eyes and mouth, clad in her blue calico wrapper, received them in her best parlor.

Eva had made a fire in the best parlor stove early that morning.

"Folks will be comin' in all day, I expect," said she, speaking with nervous catches of her breath.

Ever since the child had been missed, Eva's anxiety had driven her from point to point of unrest as with a stinging lash.