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“Why, Mehitable Lamb!” repeated Aunt Susy, “tell us this minute what has become of Hannah Maria!”

Mehitable was silent.

“Oh,” sobbed Mrs. Green, “you must tell me. Mehitable, you’ll tell Hannah Maria’s mother what has become of her, won’t you?”

Mehitable’s mother bent over her and whispered, but Mehitable lay there like a little stone image.

“Oh, do make her tell!” pleaded Mrs. Green.

“Come, now, tell, and I’ll buy you a whole pound of candy,” said Mr. Green.

“Mehitable, you must tell,” said Aunt Susy.

Suddenly Mehitable began to cry. She sobbed and sobbed; her little body shook convulsively. They all urged her to tell, but she only shook her head between the sobs.

Grandmother Lamb came into the room. She had awakened from her nap.

“What’s the matter?” she inquired. “What ails Mehitable? Is she sick?”

“Hannah Maria is lost, and Mehitable knows what has become of her, and she won’t tell,” explained Aunt Susy.

“Massy sakes!” Grandmother Lamb went up to the bed. “Tell grandmother,” she whispered, “an’ she’ll give you a pep’mint.”

But Mehitable shook her head and sobbed.

They all pleaded and argued and commanded, but they got no reply but that shake of the head and sobs.

“The child will be sick if she keeps on this way,” said Grandmother Lamb.

“She deserves to be sick!” said Hannah Maria’s mother, in a desperate voice; and Mehitable’s mother forgave her.

“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. It’s a good five mile off.”

Mr. Green got into his buggy and drove away. Mrs. Green went home, and Aunt Susy and the other aunt with her. Nobody slept in the Lamb or the Green house that night, except Grandmother Lamb. She dozed in her chair, although they could not induce her to go to bed. But first she started the kitchen fire, and made another bowl of thoroughwort tea for Mehitable.

“She’ll be sick jest as sure as the world, if she doesn’t drink it,” said she. And Mehitable lifted her swollen, teary face from the pillow and drank it. “She don’t know any more where that Green girl has gone to than I do,” said Grandmother Lamb, when she went down with the bowl. “There isn’t any use in pesterin’ the child so.”

Mrs. Lamb watched for Mr. Green to return from Mr. Pitkin’s, and ran out to the road. He had with him Mr. Pitkin’s hired man and eldest boy.

“Pitkin’s harnessed up and gone the other way, over to the village, and we’re goin’ to look round the place thorough, an’–look in the well,” he said, in a husky voice.

“If she would only tell,” groaned Mrs. Lamb. “I’ve done all I can. I can’t make her speak.”