me to see."

"See what?"

"I wondered--I thought perhaps you needed something. I knew your watch
was out of order--"

"F'r 'evan's sake what if it is?"

She offered a murmur of placative laughter as her apology, and said:
"Well, I just thought I'd tell you--because if you did intend going to
the station, I thought you probably wouldn't want to miss it and get
there too late. I've got your hat here all nicely brushed for you. It's
nearly twenty minutes of one, Willie."

"WHAT?"

"Yes, it is. It's--"

She had no further speech with him.

Breathless, William flung open his door, seized the hat, racketed down
the stairs, and out through the front door, which he left open behind
him. Eight seconds later he returned at a gallop, hurtled up the stairs
and into his room, emerging instantly with something concealed under his
coat. Replying incoherently to his mother's inquiries, he fell down the
stairs as far as the landing, used the impetus thus given as a help to
greater speed for the rest of the descent--and passed out of hearing.

Mrs. Baxter sighed, and went to a window in her own room, and looked
out.

William was already more than half-way to the next corner, where there
was a car-line that ran to the station; but the distance was not too
great for Mrs. Baxter to comprehend the nature of the symmetrical white
parcel now carried in his right hand. Her face became pensive as she
gazed after the flying slender figure:--there came to her mind the
recollection of a seventeen-year-old boy who had brought a box of candy
(a small one, like William's) to the station, once, long ago, when she
had been visiting in another town. For just a moment she thought of that
boy she had known, so many years ago, and a smile came vaguely upon her
lips. She wondered what kind of a woman he had married, and how many
children he had--and whether he was a widower----

The fleeting recollection passed; she turned from the window and shook
her head, puzzled.

"Now where on earth could Jane and that little Kirsted girl have gone?"
she murmured.

... At the station, William, descending from the street-car, found
that he had six minutes to spare. Reassured of so much by the great
clock in the station tower, he entered the building, and, with calm
and dignified steps, crossed the large waiting-room. Those calm
and dignified steps were taken by feet which little betrayed the
tremulousness of the knees above them. Moreover, though Willia