he schoolroom floor there was terror in his eyes. Nothing could
have been easier or more simple than his lifelong assumption that,
because God was in His heaven all was right with the world. He had given
thanks every evening for the blessings that he had received and every
morning for the blessings that he was going to receive, and he had had
no reason to complain. He had the wife, the children, the work that he
deserved, and his life had been so hemmed in with security that he
had had no difficulty in assuring his congregation on every possible
occasion that God was good and far-seeing, and that "not one sparrow..."

And now lie was threatened--threatened most desperately. Mrs. Cole was
so ill that it was doubtful whether she would live through the night. He
was completely helpless. He had turned from one side to another, simply
demanding an assurance from someone or something that she could not be
taken from him. No one could give him that assurance. Life without her
would be impossible; he would not know what to do about the simplest
matter. Life without her...oh! but it was incredible!

Like a blind man he had groped his way up to the schoolroom. He did not
want to see the children, nor Miss Jones, but he must be moving, must
be doing something that would break in upon that terrible ominous pause
that the whole world seemed to him, at this moment, to be making.

Then he saw Jeremy. He said:

"Oh! Where's Miss Jones?"

"She's in the next room," said Jeremy, looking at his father.

"Oh!" He began to walk up and down the schoolroom. Jeremy left his toy
village and stood up.

"Is Mother better, Father?"

He stopped in his walk and looked at the boy as though he were trying to
recollect who he was.

"No... No--that is--No, my boy, I'm afraid not."

"Is she very bad, Father--like the Dean's wife when she had fever?"

His father didn't answer. He walked to the end of the room, then turned
suddenly as though he had seen something there that terrified him, and
hurried from the room.

Jeremy, suddenly left alone, had a desperate impulse to scream that
someone must come, that he was frightened, that something horrible was
in the house. He stood up, staring at the closed door, his face white,
his eyes large and full of fear. Then he flung himself down by Hamlet
and, taking him by the neck, whispered:

"I'm frightened! I'm frightened! Bark or something!... There's someone
here!"

III

Next morning Mrs.