s. Carl Olfsen
caught him, and he's in jail. Your daughter she was there when the
shot came, and run up and held his head. The young boss he sent her
in Dr. James's buggy to Mrs. Lloyd to break the news. She 'ain't got
home?"

"No," gasped Andrew.

"The boss has been shot; he's dead by this time," repeated Lee.
"Beals did it; they've got him." There was the most singular
evenness and impartiality in his tone, although he was evidently
strained to a high pitch of excitement. It was impossible to tell
whether he exulted in or was aghast at the tragedy.

"Oh, that poor woman!" cried Fanny.

"I'd like to know what they'll do next," cried Mrs. Zelotes. "I
should call it pretty work."

"Nahum Beals has acted to me as if he was half crazy for some time,"
said Fanny.

"No doubt about it," said Lee; "but I shouldn't wonder if he had to
swing."

"It's dreadful," said Fanny. "I wonder when she's comin' home."

"Seems as if they might have got somebody besides that girl to have
gone there," said Mrs. Zelotes.

"She happened to be right on the spot," said Lee, importantly.

Andrew seemed speechless; he leaned against the mantel-shelf, gazing
from one to the other, breathing hard. He had had bitter feelings
against the murdered man, and a curious sense of guilt was over him.
He felt almost as if he were the murderer.

"Andrew, I dun'no' but you'd better go up there and see if she's
comin' home," said Fanny; and he answered heavily that maybe he had
better, when they heard wheels, which stopped before the house.

"They're bringin' her home," said Lee.

Andrew ran and threw open the front door. He had a glimpse of
Robert's pale face, nodding to him from the buggy as he drove away,
and Ellen came hastening up the walk.

"Well, Ellen, this is pretty dreadful news," said her father,
tremulously.

"So you have heard?"

"Amos Lee has just come in. It's a terrible thing, Ellen."

"Yes, it's terrible," returned Ellen, in a quick, strained voice.
She entered the sitting-room, and when she met her mother's anxious,
tender eyes, she stood back against the wall, with her hands to her
face, sobbing. Fanny ran to her, but her grandmother was quicker.
She had her arms around the girl before the mother had a chance.

"If they couldn't get somebody besides you," she said, in a voice of
intensest love and anger, "I should call it pretty work. Now you go
straight to bed, Ellen Brewster, and I'm goin' to make a bowl of
sage tea