And that very moment
a thin, piping voice came out of the darkness beyond.
"Daddy, is that you?" I did not know the child's voice,
but I sang out as cheerily as I could. "I am a daddy all
right, but I am afraid, not yours. Is the bridge broken
down, sonny? Anything wrong?" "No, Sir," the answer came,
"nothing wrong." So I pulled up to the lanterns, and
there I saw, dimly enough, God wot, a small, ten-year
old boy standing and shivering by the signal which he
had rigged up. He was barefooted and bareheaded, in shirt
and torn knee-trousers. I pointed to the lanterns with
my whip. "What's the meaning of this, my boy?" I asked
in as friendly a voice as I could muster. "Daddy went to
town this morning," he said rather haltingly, "and he
must have got caught in the fog. We were afraid he might
not find the bridge." "Well, cheer up, son," I said, "he
is not the only one as you see; his horses will know the
road. Where did he go?" The boy named the town--it was
to the west, not half the distance away that I had come.
"Don't worry," I said; "I don't think he has started out
at all. The fog caught me about sixteen miles south of
here.
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