Beadle's Dime Novels No. 47: Tim Bumble's Charge — page 27: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

GENERAL DISMAY. 25 “« This time’ What did he mean? The hour, the twi- light—or the month? Jt was August! My father assured him he had not met with Harrison, and questioned every member of the family. No one had seen him. “The coachman had been gone twenty minutes, perhaps, when there came another rap. It was the head gardener, this time—he held a lantern ih which was a powerful light. “*Tf you please,’ he said, appealing anxiously to my father, ‘Mr. Lattison would like you to give me the privilege of searching your grounds. We miss young master Harrison— he has been gone two hours—we—they are all very anxious at the Grove, sir’ “He paused here—and my father replied: ‘ Go, go imme- diately—search everywhere—and take any of the servants to aid you; but it seems to me,’ he added, turning to my mother, ‘the boy is old enough to take care of himself, Searching in this way for a fellow of nineteen with lanterns—why, it’s ridic- ulous.’ “T was crying to myself, for there was a heavy weight at my heart; but I swallowed my tears as I said, ‘Oh! father, they have lost six sons—six beautiful sons, Anne says, and they all died by drowning or by other violent deaths.’ “*T never heard of this, he said; ‘is there any—any— trouble in the family ? He would haye said insanity, I knew by his hesitation and his glance at me. ‘That is dreadful— I don’t wonder at their fright then. TI ll go over there and see if I ean be of any service. Hark! I hear Tim in the hall.’ “ Arty was on her feet inamoment. ‘Oh! Bumbledyhum, she cried, flying out, I following her, ‘ have you found him ?” “* Found him is it, Miss Arty,” said the man; ‘niver a bit except the trace of him. An’ how could it be my fault ? Wasn’t he as like a man in his sinses as could be, this wake ? my shuddered from head to foot. “*Sore he was rading as quiet as a lamb,’ he continued, turning to my father, ‘ and he'd been quiet all day; having nary one of his t’aring turns that takes the breath from me y to howld him. And he asks me to go git him a book from the libery as purty, now, for he always was the gintleman, Conmmicloooks.aconn