treacle, the cleanings of the niggers' feet that tread out the sugar-cane."
"It shall be put down to you!" cried the mistress of the store, defying her customer across the black river. "I will have a summons out against you for the syrup."
"And I will have a search-warrant for my son."
"I have not got him. I should be ashamed to keep him under my respectable roof."
"What is this disturbance about?" asked Mr. Musset, coming into the shop with his pipe.
"I want my son," cried the incensed mother. "He has not been seen since he came here last night. What have you done to him?"
"He is not here, Mistress. He only remained a few minutes to enquire after Phœbe, and then he left. We have not seen him since. Go to the Leather Bottle; you will probably find him there."
The advice was reasonable; and having discharged a parting shot at Mrs. Musset, the bereaved mother departed and took her way to the quaint old inn by the waterside, entitled the Leather Bottle.
Mrs. De Witt pushed the door open and strode in. No one was there save the host, Isaac Mead. He knew nothing of George's whereabouts. He had not seen him or heard him spoken of. Mrs. De Witt having entered, felt it incumbent on her to take something for the good of the house.
The host sat opposite her at the table.
"Where can he be?" asked Mrs. De Witt. "The boy cannot be lost."
"Have you searched everywhere?"
"I have asked the lads; they either know nothing, or won't tell. I have been to the Mussets'. They pretend they have not seen him since last night."
"Perhaps he rowed off somewhere."
"His boat is on the Hard."
"Do not bother your head about him," said the host with confidence; "he will turn up. Mark my words. I say he will certainly turn up, perhaps not when you want him, or where you expect him, but he assuredly will reappear. I have had seven sons, and they got scattered all over the world, but they have all turned up one after another; and,"
