As Ethel burst out with the news that Tan was missing, Mr. Clarke’s cheeks paled, and an expression of pain passed over his countenance.
“Lost! at this time in the evening,” for it had been dark for two hours. “Something must be done at once.”
After getting the disjointed story from the brokenhearted girl and telling her not to mention it yet to her mother, he went out to look for Tan. Surely the boy would be somewhere within the vicinity of the park, he said to himself, never dreaming that his darling was now several miles away from Wandsworth.
After notifying the local police that Tan was lost, the frantic father searched for hours in every area where his boy was likely to have visited, calling out for him wherever he went. Every street and road was scoured, not only by Mr. Clarke, but by Jessie and Ethel. Finally at eleven o’clock he gave up the fruitless search and dejectedly turned his footsteps homeward. The girls had reached home an hour before.
All this time poor Mrs. Clarke was in ignorance that her baby was lost, for Tan was the baby still, though he was now five years old.
“Mother must be told,” Ethel whispered to Jessie. “But who will break the sad news? I really cannot,” she added. “Poor Mamma! Will you tell her, Jessie?” And it was upon the younger sister that the painful burden fell.
Mrs. Clarke had retired before tea that day to her bedroom, having one of her bad attacks, and the girls had so far carefully concealed all tidings of little Tan’s absence from her in the hope that the child would be found. Jessie was still hesitating outside her mother’s door when Mr. Clarke returned. From the heavy, sad footsteps and ominous silence she knew the worst.
She entered the room, approached the bedside, and said softly, “Mamma, dear, are you asleep?”
“No dear, but I am feeling much better. It is rather late. Shouldn’t you girls go to bed?” And then Mrs. Clarke stopped. Something in Jessie’s face arrested her attention, for Mary had turned a gas light on when she had brought her mistress some coffee half an hour ago.
“My dear, what is the matter? Are you not feeling well?” asked the tenderhearted mother.
“No, Mamma, but we are rather upset. Tan is not home yet.” She couldn’t say “lost.”
“Not home! Then he has stayed at your cousin’s for the night.”
Poor Jessie. It was harder than she thought, but the truth must be told.
“Mother, dear, we cannot find him, but tomorrow father will make more inquiries,” said Jessie, in a subdued voice.
Mrs. Clarke did not scream or faint, but her face went very pale, and clasping her hands together she said only one word, “Lost,” but it was so intense in its bitterness that Jessie utterly broke down.
“Lost!” It had flashed on the mother’s heart at once. Her darling boy “lost,” and it was night. The cool, damp autumn night, and the tired child lying down somewhere crying for mother arose before her. With trembling haste she arose from her bed.
“It is no use getting up, Mamma, dear. We cannot do anything else tonight,” said Jessie, but Mrs. Clarke did not hear her.
She must find her boy. Throwing on some clothes took only a few minutes. Jessie slipped downstairs to her father and said, “Papa, dear, will you go upstairs,” but her mother was already on her way down, and with feverish haste she entered the dining room, where Mr. Clarke was waiting.
“John,” she said, “we must find Tan tonight.”
Her words were firm, though face and figure sadly drooped.
“Dora, dear, it is no use doing anything more until the morning. Perhaps our boy is in as safe keeping as ours, and in the morning will be restored to us,” said Mr. Clarke. “Did Jessie explain to you how it happened?”
“I have not told Mamma how it was,” said Jessie.
Ethel was sitting at the table, her head bowed on her hands. As Jessie spoke she looked up, and sadly said, “It was all my fault. If I had watched, and not been so thoughtless, it would not have happened.”
The words were uttered in a broken voice, her tears falling through her clasped hands which covered the sad, pale face. Mrs. Clarke listened, not with her usual patience, but restless and anxious, for talking at that moment was keeping her from going out into the night to hunt for her darling, and she was only held back by Mr. Clarke’s hands on her shoulders.
Mr. Clarke, who felt the sorrow quite as keenly, remembered where the only comfort could be found, and gently drawing his wife aside, whispered to her, “Do not let us be without faith. Remember the words of Jesus, ‘Have faith in God.’ Shall we commit our lost one into His keeping? Surely He can watch over him as safely, yes, far more so, than we can this night.” Then, kneeling down, they prayed for patience and grace to await the hours that must pass before dawn, when they might again search for their darling Tan.
No one went to bed that night. The long hours dragged wearily by. It seemed as though death had entered, and yet there was hope, strong in each heart, that he would be found, for they had confidence that God their Father would take care of and restore their lost child.
As soon as daylight came, Mr. Clarke went to the police station to inquire if anything had been reported about their little boy who was lost, but no one had seen or heard of little Tan. Weary in mind and body, Mr. Clarke retraced his steps home, expecting still to see the lost boy on every street he passed.
Mrs. Clarke and Ethel went from house to house around the park, inquiring whether a little boy wearing blue velvet had been seen.
But with the exception of one lady, who had noticed from her window the child running down the road and turning to wave to his sister, there was no clue as to where he had turned.
It never occurred to Mr. and Mrs. Clarke to make inquiries in the poorer streets, although it is doubtful whether in the twilight among so many other children he would have been noticed. The day closed more hopeless and full of grief than the previous one.
Jessie had gone to school and told everyone the dreadful news that little Tan, whom all the girls knew and loved, was lost. Miss Bland suggested that she return home several hours early, for it was simply impossible for the poor girl to give her mind to anything.
Ethel went around to everyone they knew to gather any information that might throw any light on her little brother’s whereabouts, but everything seemed completely hopeless. No matter where she searched, there certainly was not a trace of the missing child.
Poor Mrs. Clarke could only murmur, “Oh, Tan, my darling boy! Tan, I do want you!” Again and again would the name rise to her lips, as though she could call him to herself by the oft-repeated word. But Tan was far, far away by this time.
Still, amid the great sorrow that filled each heart was the hope that he would come back or they would hear something about his whereabouts. Even Mary shared this hope almost as much as Ethel and Jessie, for she had lived with the family for seven years, and little Tan was very dear to the honest, faithful servant. In no heart did this hope burn more intensely than in the mother’s. She could not believe that her boy was dead; hour by hour she looked for his return.
Slowly the second day passed, then the third. What more could they do? The police promised to do all they could and looked for any clue, but nothing came of their efforts. Friends called on the brokenhearted parents and sisters to offer sympathy and whisper hope. Neighbors anxiously inquired each day as to whether anything had been heard of the lost child. Business people stopped Mr. Clarke in the street to sympathize, but as day followed day, and a week passed, all hope seemed to pass away of seeing little Tan again. Yet the mother clung to the hope that he would come back.
It was on Monday that Ethel had taken him out, and that was the last anyone had seen that bright little face, crowned with the golden hair. Now it was Sunday. The week had seemed as long as a year to Tan’s shocked family. As time passed, hope dimmed. When there was nothing more to do, there seemed to be nothing more on which to put their hopes.
Mrs. Clarke had put all Tan’s clothes and toys away — “until he comes home,” she had said to herself with bitter tears streaming down her face, for she could not bear to see what belonged to her absent boy. Ethel was altered, too. The few days had told on her; she had stepped, as it were, from a lighthearted girl into a mature but sad woman.
Jessie was her mother’s comfort, for she knew where to find grace to bear this great trial. Mother and daughter spent hours together speaking of the child that had so mysteriously disappeared from their midst. Jessie had come to know God as her Father through trusting Jesus Christ as her own personal Saviour. She had learned the value and privilege of prayer.
But Ethel remained comfortless. When Sunday dawned, Jessie sought her sister, expecting to find her ready to go out with her as usual in the morning, but on entering her room she found poor Ethel with bowed head by the bedside, where she knelt in prayer. Jessie knelt beside her, and together, in silence, they sought the Great Healer, and the saved girl earnestly prayed that her sister might be brought to Christ in the day of her sorrow.
When Ethel finally looked up, her face had lost its despondency. A new light was shining from those tear-dimmed eyes.
“It’s all right now, Jessie dear,” she said. “Jesus is mine. I have come to Him as a sinner, and He has received me. His precious blood has taken my sins away.”
On that first Sunday without little Tan it was a source of comfort and thankfulness to the brokenhearted father and mother to know that Ethel had passed from death unto life by trusting in the Saviour. Truly she was a new Ethel now. The old nature was still there, but a new life was there too, with the indwelling Spirit of God to strengthen it. How she longed to tell her little brother that Jesus was her Saviour now. He had asked her once if she belonged to Jesus, but she could not answer. Now that question could be answered — but where was Tan?
“Our heavenly Father knows. Surely He will send him back,” repeated Mrs. Clarke over and over again. But each day ended as it had begun, in disappointment, and, before a month had passed away, the mother visibly drooped. “Hope deferred maketh the heart sick; but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.” But the “desire” had not come, and Mrs. Clarke’s heart was indeed sick. She still hoped and prayed for her darling’s return, but now hope almost failed her of his coming back, and, in the words of King David, she cried with anguish in her heart, “I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.”