ood things which Susanna had brought for him.

"You may eat your supper in here to-night, Alfaretta, at the little
table; but that basket was for Montgomery, and we will leave it to him
to open. We shall get our share of its contents, never fear."

With more faith in the lad's generosity, where appetite was concerned,
than Alfaretta had, the grandmother set the basket aside in the closet,
and took up her knitting of stockings for her boy's winter wear.

And then, as if he had felt himself under discussion, or more likely--as
Alfy surmised--had smelled the odor of good things even through many
partitions, the door softly opened, and there appeared a tumbled head, a
frightened face, and a pair of beseeching eyes. Whatever reproof was in
store for him, he meant those eyes should do their part toward modifying
it.

And for a time all went well. Madam was so full of the incident of the
tramp and the horror of the storm that she forgot to ask him where he
had so long delayed, and how it chanced that he was so perfectly dry.
However, this all came out of itself. While she was describing the gust
which had blown the shutter free, he burst forth:

"I-I-I heard that! Yes, siree! An' I thought the whole r-r-r-roof was
goin'. An' then I w-w-went to sleep a s-s-s-sp-ell. When I woke up,
'twas so p-p-pit-chy dark I dassent stay no l-l-longer."

With which he coolly sliced himself a portion of the ham which his
grandmother had promptly produced. She watched him in silence for a
moment, then, as a sudden thought occurred to her, demanded:

"Montgomery, have you been in the secret chamber again? Was Katharine
with you?"

With his mouth full, he stammered: "Y-y-yes, I've been. You never said
not. But K-K-Katharine she w-w-wasn't with me."

"Montgomery, where is she? It was for her Susanna came. Eunice does not
know, nobody has seen her, can you tell where she is? You were at The
Maples all day--you played with her--_where is she_?"

Even in her sternest moods, "Gram'ma" had never been like this. And all
at once a horrible chill ran down poor Monty's back. Memory returned;
all his treachery; his unchivalrous desertion of a helpless girl in a
dangerous place; and, to his honor be it said, did for a moment turn him
deadly sick. But his natural temperament soon rallied. Of course she
would have found a way to get down and out. Yet,--and again he felt
faint,--what if she had not? What if she had had to pass the hours of
this dreadf