The farmer’s wife proved a friend indeed to Molly. She gathered the little girl up in her arms and carried her indoors, made her put on some fresh clothes while she dried her wet things before a blazing fire, and not until Molly had emptied a big bowl of hot bread and milk would she let her say a word of thanks or explanation.

Then, when the farmer and Mrs Rose and Molly (wrapped in a warm cloak belonging to the farmer’s wife) sat round the fire, Molly told them her story, weeping afresh at the memory of Jack’s misfortune.

“There, there, my dear,” comforted Mrs Rose, her own eyes full of tears. “It’s no use crying, you know. What you have got to do is to determine to find the Black Leaf, and then, like as not, you’ll get your brother back again.”

“Oh, I am determined to find it,” cried Molly. “I was determined before—but I will—I will find it—whatever happens.”

“You must try to get a good rest to-night, and then you can start off fresh in the morning—and you mustn’t cry any more or you’ll make yourself ill—and then you won’t be able to do anything,” said Mrs Rose.

Molly quite saw the wisdom of Mrs Rose’s words and tried her best to stop crying. But she kept thinking about Jack, and wondering what they were doing to him, and why the Pumpkin had changed him into a likeness of himself. Supposing she had to return home to Mother without Jack. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t, she vowed to herself. She would stay in this country and search and search until the Black Leaf was found, even if she had to wait for years ... and here her tears began to flow again.

To distract her, the farmer began talking about the country around and the most likely places to search. He had searched all his own land, he said, directly he heard the Pumpkin was back, and he had helped to prepare some of the beacons on the hills around this district. And he asked Molly if she knew on which hills the beacons were set.

Molly dried her eyes, got her map out, and showed him how the beacon hills were marked, and soon she and the farmer and Mrs Rose were poring over the map, planning out the best routes to take, and discussing the most likely places for search. The farmer showed her all the places where the Leaf was not growing, places he had personally searched; and at Molly’s request he marked these places on the map with a lead pencil. Molly decided to herself that she would leave these marked places until the very last, until she had searched all the more likely parts round about. She felt she could not leave them out altogether, although she trusted the farmer absolutely; she had promised to search each part herself.

When she mentioned Mr Papingay’s name the farmer and his wife smiled, and although they thought he would certainly have searched the Orange Wood as he said he had, yet he was not sure to have done it thoroughly, and they agreed with Molly that it would be as well to go over the ground again if possible. The fact that the Pumpkin was lurking about there made all three of them think that probably the Leaf was growing somewhere near. Of course, this might not be so; it might be only the Pumpkin’s object to prevent Jack and Molly going any further with the search.

“You’ll have to be very cautious, missie, if you go back to the wood,” said Farmer Rose. “It wouldn’t do for you to get caught too.”

“I’ll be very careful—but it won’t do for me to be afraid, or p’r’aps I’ll never get Jack back again,” said Molly. “I mustn’t be afraid of anything now.”

“That’s the spirit,” said the farmer, slapping his knee. “And if there’s anything we can do to help you—you’ve only got to name it—we shall be proud.”

When the farmer’s wife tucked her up in bed, about twenty minutes later, Molly threw her arms round her neck.

“I don’t know why you are so good to me,” she said. “Thank you so much. I’ve given you a lot of trouble, I’m afraid.”

“Not the least bit in the world,” replied the farmer’s wife. “Try to get to sleep, my dear.... P’r’aps to-morrow—who knows what may happen to-morrow!”

Molly was so exhausted that she slept soundly and dreamlessly, in spite of the fact that the wind rattled furiously at her window and roared down the chimney. In the morning she woke with a dreadful, leaden feeling at her heart, but she determined not to brood over yesterday, but to get to work at once.

After breakfast she collected up all the things from Jack’s satchel and put them with her belongings into her own satchel. The farmer’s wife insisted on giving her a big packet of food for luncheon, and told her to come back and sleep at the farm again that night if she ended her day’s search anywhere near.

Molly thanked her gratefully, then started out alone. The rain had ceased, and the wind was much less violent, but it was a grey day with a sky full of scurrying clouds.

And now began a long, wearying time for Molly. Alone, of course, the task of searching was longer and more difficult, though the enthusiasm with which she went to work kept her from realizing this to the full. She went on her way searching eagerly and thoroughly that part of the valley through which the river ran, which came within her square of map; she crossed the water by another bridge about a mile away from the place of last night’s accident, and searched the opposite bank, gradually working her way back to the spot where the Pumpkin had appeared.

Across the water she could see the farm-house, half-way up the hilly road on the other side. Behind her was the stile which she and Jack had clambered over yesterday. Was it only yesterday?—it seemed more like a week ago to Molly. She climbed over the stile again and crossed the field, searching as she went, to the Orange Wood.

Very cautiously she entered the wood, and started her search, ears and eyes constantly on the alert, and hands and feet ready to spring and climb up a tree at any moment, if the need arose. But the need did not arise, and presently Molly found she was back within sight of Mr Papingay’s house. She went extra carefully now, so as not to attract the old man’s attention, and made a tour of the wood near his house, working in a wide circle, so as not to cross the space before his front door. Once she heard his voice calling out to know what Percy was barking at, but she did not see him.

And though at length she searched the whole of the Orange Wood, she did not find the Black Leaf; nor did she see any sign of the Pumpkin or his spies.

So she left the wood behind her, and came back over the river, and made her way to the farm-house again, where she had tea, and told them all about her day’s search. But she would not stay the night there, as there was still a long light evening to work through, and she hoped to get some way on the road to Lake Desolate before the night fell.

“You’ll pass several houses and cottages on the road,” said Mrs Rose, and proceeded to give Molly the names of several friends of hers, whom she could trust. “But be sure to come back here, if you want to.”

Mrs Rose stood at the gate waving her handkerchief to Molly, until the little girl turned round a bend in the road and was lost to sight. Then she dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “Bless the child,” she said, as she hurried indoors. “She deserves to win.”

From the top of one of the hills close by, Molly found she could get a splendid view of the surrounding country. The clouds had disappeared by now, and it promised to be a beautiful evening and a moonlight night. The river sparkled beneath, and the Orange Wood glowed in the evening sun, while far away, in the distance, she could see the white towers of the City. Looking down at the Orange Wood she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to look for Mr Waffer’s face, as she passed Mr Papingay’s house. What a pity! Jack would have liked to know, when—when she met him again. But she had had so many things to think about in the wood that it is no wonder she forgot about Mr Waffer.

Descending the hill, Molly started on the road to Lake Desolate. It was pretty and green at first with cottages dotted about in small clusters, and presently she passed through a tiny village, where she stopped to inquire and search. But although every one seemed kind, and eager to help, there was nothing to be heard or seen of the Black Leaf.

About half a mile outside the village, Molly came to a few more houses and a small shop. At the door of the shop stood an old gentleman wearing a black skull-cap and a long, shabby coat. When he saw Molly approaching he came out to meet her and, seizing her hand, shook it warmly, saying that he had heard of her goodness in helping with the search and thanked her gratefully.

“I have been keeping a watch on the road for the last few days, missie, hoping to catch a glimpse of you as you passed,” he said. “I heard you were coming this way.”

Molly was pleased at his impulsive friendliness, especially as she was feeling very lonely just now. She stopped chatting for a few minutes, and the old gentleman proudly showed her his shop. He was a watchmaker, and the shop was full of watches and clocks of all kinds and sizes. Besides these, he had a small collection of jewellery.

“I expect you wonder at a watchmaker being right out here,” he said, noting Molly’s surprised expression at the contents of his shop. “Many people wonder at first. But I supply the clocks and watches for all the neighbouring towns and villages and even for the City. I send to the City twice a week. I live out here simply because my father and grandfather and great-grandfather have always lived in this place—and because my health won’t permit me to live in crowded towns.... Now, miss, if you will be so good I want you to accept a little present from me, as a token of appreciation of the work you are doing.”

He opened a little box and drew out a dainty, silver bracelet, that jingled as he handled it—just the very kind of bracelet that Molly had longed for on her birthday.

Molly’s face lit up, but she hesitated. Ought she to accept this present from a stranger—especially as she had made up her mind not to trust anybody now, unless she was perfectly sure they were all right. The old watchmaker seemed harmless enough, and he was already looking disappointed at her hesitation. Molly felt it would be unkind to refuse the bracelet, and difficult also. It was not as if he had offered her food or drink, that might be poisoned; nor had he made any effort to entice her into his shop; she had merely stepped inside on the mat and the door had been left wide open. Surely there could be no harm in accepting the bracelet, Molly argued to herself. It was so pretty, and she would like to have it, and anyway, if she felt doubtful afterward she could always get rid of it somehow, when the old gentleman could not see her and be hurt.

“I beg you will accept this bracelet,” said the watchmaker. “I have been keeping it back specially for you.”

So Molly accepted the bracelet, and the old gentleman ‘had the honour,’ as he put it, of seeing her slip it over her right hand, where it gleamed and jingled, and nearly slipped off when she put her arm down straight—just as she had longed for it to do. Molly thanked the old watchmaker and shook hands with him again, as she bid him good-bye.

He stood at his door bowing as Molly went on her way, but no sooner was she out of sight than he returned to his shop and, closing the door, sat down on a stool behind the counter, and began to shake with silent laughter; he continued to laugh, hugging himself while he did so, and rocking backward and forward, and bending himself nearly double, and all this quite noiselessly—the only sounds in the shop being the rapid tick, tick, tick, and the steady tick-tock, of the watches and clocks around him.