She was wan and
hollow-eyed.
"They haven't found a sign of her," said she. "They've looked
everywhere. The Pitkin boy's been down the well. Mr. Pitkin has just
come over from the village, and a lot of men are going out to hunt for
her as soon as it's light. If Mehitable only would tell!"
"I can't make her," said Mrs. Lamb, despairingly.
"I know what I think you'd ought to do," said Aunt Susy, in a desperate
voice.
"What?"
"_Whip her._"
"Oh, Susy, I can't! I never whipped her in my life."
"Well, I don't care. I should." Aunt Susy had the tragic and resolute
expression of an inquisitor. She might have been proposing the rack. "I
think it is your duty," she added.
Mrs. Lamb sank into the rocking-chair and wept; but within an hour's
time Mehitable stood shivering and sobbing in her night-gown, and held
out her pretty little hands while her mother switched them with a small
stick. Aunt Susy was crying down in the sitting-room. "Did she tell?"
she inquired, when her sister, quite pale and trembling, came in with
the stick.
"No," replied Mrs. Lamb. "I never will whip that dear child again, come
what will." And she broke the stick in two and threw it out of the
window.
As the day advanced teams began to pass the house. Now and then one
heard a signal horn. The search for Hannah Maria was being organized.
Mrs. Lamb and the aunts cooked a hot breakfast, and carried it over to
Mr.
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