ities of little Mary Todd's disappearance; for besides the war, wild beasts still roamed the Newark Mountains, and always there was the danger of the swamp. "There must be no if! Mary Todd must be found!" Sally thought. However, her young face grew strained and white.
Approaching Ned Tompkins's inn at Freemantown, Sally pulled old Dot to a standstill. "I think," she said slowly, "I will borrow a lanthorn."
Young Lawrence nodded. "Aye, 'tis wise. Best go in alone, though," he added, glancing down at his red uniform wearily.
How reluctant were Sally's feet as she went up the stepping stones to the inn's back door. Only Mistress Tompkins was in the big kitchen, though; and since she was deaf, she made out but half of what Sally tried to tell her. At last she gestured toward the lantern hanging upon its peg. "Take it," she said in the breathless voice of one who cannot hear. "I cannot understand why ye wish it," she smiled resignedly, "but I will trust ye, Sally!" Sweeping her a grateful curtsey, Sally seized the lantern and, removing its tallow candle, lighted the candle wick in the supper embers still glowing upon the hearth. Then nodding again gratefully, the girl rejoined Jerry outside.
At sight of his drooping figure, however, a pang of pity swept over Sally. For the first time that night she remembered that he had been wounded,
