"She's lost," answered Captain French. "She started to go up to her Aunt Sarah's Monday forenoon; and Enos has just been down, and they haven't seen anything of her." Poor Captain French gave a deep groan.
Then they all went down into the kitchen together, talking and lamenting. And then, Captain French was galloping away on his gray horse to call assistance, and Ann was flying away over the fields, blue apron, cards, wool and all.
"O, Ann!" Mrs. Polly cried after, "where are you going?"
"I'm going—to find—Hannah!" Ann shouted back, in a shrill, desperate voice, and kept on.
She had no definite notion as to where she was going; she had only one thought—Hannah French, her darling, tender little Hannah French, her friend whom she loved better than a sister, was lost.
A good three miles from the Wales home was a large tract of rough land, half swamp, known as "Bear Swamp." There was an opinion, more or less correct, that bears might be found there. Some had been shot in that vicinity. Why Ann
