"We may as well go down," said Mr. Green, with a groan. "I can't waste
any more time here; I've got to do something."
"Oh, here 'tis night coming on, and my poor child lost!" wailed Hannah
Maria's mother.
Mehitable sobbed so that it was pitiful in spite of her obstinacy.
"If that child don't have somethin' to take, she'll be sick," said her
grandmother. "I dunno as there's any need of her bein' sick if Hannah
Maria is lost." And she forthwith went stiffly down-stairs. The rest
followed--all except Mrs. Lamb. She lingered to plead longer with
Mehitable.
"You're mother's own little girl," said she, "and nobody shall scold you
whatever happens. Now, tell mother what has become of Hannah Maria."
But it was of no use. Finally, Mrs. Lamb tucked the clothes over
Mehitable with a jerk, and went down-stairs herself. They were having a
consultation there in the sitting-room. It was decided that Mr. Green
should drive to Mr. Pitkin's, about a quarter of a mile away, and see if
they knew anything of Hannah Maria, and get Mr. Pitkin to aid in the
search.
"I wouldn't go over to Timothy's to-night, if I were you," said Mrs.
Green. "Jenny's dreadful nervous, and it would use her all up; she
thought so much of Hannah Maria."
Mrs. Green's voice broke with a sob.
"No, I'm not going there," returned Mr. Green. "It isn't any use. It
isn't likely they know anything about her.
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