But no one had noticed anything dangerous. The
goosey-gander had probably lost his way in the mist.
But it was just as great a misfortune for the boy, in whatever way the
white one had been lost, and he started off immediately to hunt for him.
The mist shielded him, so that he could run wherever he wished without
being seen, but it also prevented him from seeing. He ran southward
along the shore--all the way down to the lighthouse and the mist cannon
on the island's extreme point. It was the same bird confusion
everywhere, but no goosey-gander. He ventured over to Ottenby estate,
and he searched every one of the old, hollow oaks in Ottenby grove, but
he saw no trace of the goosey-gander.
He searched until it began to grow dark. Then he had to turn back again
to the eastern shore. He walked with heavy steps, and was fearfully
blue. He didn't know what would become of him if he couldn't find the
goosey-gander. There was no one whom he could spare less.
But when he wandered over the sheep meadow, what was that big, white
thing that came toward him in the mist if it wasn't the goosey-gander?
He was all right, and very glad that, at last, he had been able to find
his way back to the others. The mist had made him so dizzy, he said,
that he had wandered around on the big meadow all day long. The boy
threw his arms around his neck, for very joy, and begged him to take
care of himself, and not wander away from the others.
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