CHAPTER XII.

ON THE TRACK.

Ir was a bright, beautiful morning when Dolly and her aunt took leave of their pretty home to start on their travels. The little girl had been round the garden, for the last time, bidding farewell to the place where she had been so happy.

"You must keep up your heart, Miss Dolly," said Jessie. "Who knows but we may have news to send you of Master Harty in a day or two?

Why, he may come home while you are away looking for him."

"If anything of the sort should happen," said Aunt Charlotte, "you must go up at once to Mr. Fairbairn. He knows where to write to me, and we should soon be back again."

There was terrible work to keep back poor Bannock, who followed close at their heels, during all the preparations, as though he quite understood their intention, and did not mean to be left behind.

"It would not be possible to take him, my dear,"

said Aunt Charlotte, in answer to Dolly's wistful look. "We shall be going by rail, and boat, and coach. Indeed I hardly know yet where we shall go, and the poor dog would be sadly in the way. Look well to him, James. I know you will be kind to the poor fellow."

Then the chaise came up which was to take them to the railway station, and away they went. Dolly was very sad and silent on the first part of the journey; but when the train had started, she spoke for the first time.

"Where are we going to now, aunty?"

"Well, my dear, I have a fancy that poor Harty must have gone away that day in a pet, and perhaps wandered further than he intended, and then got ashamed to come home, and has been stopping in some fishing village, helping with the boats. You know how fond he was of the sea."

"Yes," returned Dolly, "and they said Bannock had been among the boats. But, aunt, if the dog had found Harty, wouldn't he have stayed with him, and not have

come back?”

"He might have been driven away by some one else," returned her aunt.

"And the boot-how could Harty be going without his boot?" questioned Dolly.

"but

"It is hard to say indeed," returned her aunt; as the poor boy had no money with him, he could not have gone far; and I have made up my mind to go to all the fishing villages, a few miles along this coast, and

make inquiries quietly. I am more likely to find out in that way, if there is anything wrong, than men would be who might make a great fuss and terrify people, so that they would refuse to answer questions."

"Shall we be home again, aunt, by the time father and mother return?" was Dolly's next question.

"I intend to go to Southampton," replied her aunt, " and meet them when the ship comes in. If, please God, we have found dear Harty, it will be a pleasant surprise for them; if not, I could break the dreadful news to them better so than to let them come home to the cottage. And indeed, my dear, I don't think we could, any of us, endure to live there again, if our dear Harold is really lost

Dolly quite felt the same. In her heart she prayed, as she was always doing, that it might not be so, but that a day might quickly come when her dear brother should be restored to them.

Shortly after the train stopped at a station, and two women got in. Up to this time Dolly and her aunt had had the carriage to themselves. When the strangers came in, Aunt Charlotte, not choosing to talk more, opened a book. Dolly amused herself with looking out at the window. Presently the women began to talk, and the little girl gradually became interested in what they said.

"It was a queer thing that we saw just now," said one. "Ay, I didn't half like it," was the reply. "It seemed to me there was something wrong."

"I don't believe a father could treat his own boy so,"

went on the first.

"Besides, why should a son disown his father? The little chap said he wasn't his father."

"Did you see how his poor feet were bleeding?"

Why he had never a shoe on one of them."

"And no hat nor cap-nothing to cover his head," rejoined her friend.

"I wish I'd had time to follow them up, and see the rights of it."

"Well, it's hard to know what to do. It is awkward interfering between people; and, if it turned out to be father and son, you see, we'd have been all in the wrong."

Anyway, the man looked a brute of a fellow. He shoved the poor little chap along; if we hadn't been there, I believe he'd have struck him."

"The boy didn't look one of his sort either, did he? I noticed his hands; they were quite white inside, and nice; not like one that had been used to rough work."

Dolly's ears had taken in every word of the women's talk, with increased attention, and now, looking up at her aunt, she saw that her interest had been excited. Aunt Charlotte had closed her book, and, as the last speaker ceased, she said, "Pray excuse me, but may I ask what it is you are talking about. I am seeking a young lad I have lost from home. I heard you speak of one--"

In a moment the women we re interested in their turn.

Both speaking together, they interrupted Aunt Charlotte.

"Oh! ma'am, it was a pitiful sight."

"Such a dear, nice-faced lad he was!"

It was some moments before any sense could be made out of what they said. However, one at last gave way to the other, and she told the tale.

"We have been to the market, maʼam; my friend and myself go there every week. We were just coming into the station when a rude fellow pushed before us, and went to get his ticket. He had with him a boy-tall and slim he was-and his face very white, and his eyes red as though he'd been crying. He looked quite eager round the station, as if he might see some one he knew. And we noticed that the man kept hold of his wrist.

"He gave him a pull every now and again, quite savagely; and, says he, 'You shan't run away from me again.'

"Every time he did this he glared and glowered at the lad so, as if to terrify him to be quiet.

"My friend made bold to say to him, 'What makes you want to run away from your father?' and the poor lad looked up and shook his head.

"He isn't my father,' he said. Then the man gave him a shake, and said, 'Hold your lying young tongue!""

"We were afraid," put in the other woman, "that it might make it worse for the poor boy if we said any more.