I was making pies in the kitchen, when some one came
running in to say that Reuther had strayed away from the front
yard. She was about the age of the little one over there, and we
never allowed her out alone for fear of her tumbling off the
bluff. So I set down the pie I was just putting in the oven, and
was about to run out after her when my husband called to me from
the front, and said he would go. I didn't like his tone--it was
sullen and impatient, but I knew he loved the child too well to
see her suffer any danger, and so I settled back to work and was
satisfied enough till the pies were all in. Then I got uneasy,
and, hearing nothing of either of them, I started in this
direction because they told me John had taken the other. And here
I found her, sir, right in the heart of these ruins. She was
playing with stones just as Peggy dear is doing now. Greatly
relieved, I was taking her away when I thought I heard John
calling. Stepping up to the edge just behind where you are
standing, sir--yes, there, where you get such a broad outlook up
and down the ravine, I glanced in the direction from which I had
heard his call--Just wait a moment, sir; I want to know the exact
time."
Stopping, she pulled out her watch and looked at it, while he,
faltering up to the verge which she had pointed out, followed her
movements with strange intensity as she went on to say in
explanation of her act:
"The time is important, on account of a certain demonstration I am
anxious to make.
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