"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 turned her footsteps in that direction, she
could not have told herself. Possibly the vague impression of
conversations she and Hannah had had, lingering in her mind, had
something to do with it. Many a time the two little girls had
remarked to each other with a shudder, "How awful it would be to get
lost in Bear Swamp."
Anyway, Ann went straight there, through pasture and woodland, over
ditches and stone walls. She knew every step of the way for a long
distance. When she gradually got into the unfamiliar wilderness of
the swamp, a thought struck her--suppose she got lost too! It would
be easy enough--the unbroken forest stretched for miles in some
directions.
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