So why not be
philosophical and read the book? But the words would not keep their
places, and the page yielded forth no coherent thought. He could
endure the tension no longer. He became a whirlwind--slamming the
book upon the table, kicking off the slippers, throwing the
smoking-jacket at random, and rushing to the closet for his gear. At
ten o'clock he was ready--hip-boots, slouch-hat, rubber coat, and
lantern, and went forth into the storm.
Arriving at the scene, he took his place in the searching party of
about twenty men. They were to search the woods, first of all, each
man to be responsible for a space about two or three rods wide and
extending to the road a half-mile distant. Lantern in hand, he
scrutinized each stone and stump, hoping and fearing that it might
prove to be the little one. In the darkness he stumbled over logs
and vines, became entangled in briers and brambles, and often was
deluged with water from trees as he came in contact with overhanging
boughs. But his blood was up, for he was seeking a lost baby.
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