money she
looked out of the window again.

"Mamma," said Cynthia, leaning towards her, "you are worried about
something, aren't you? Tell me, is it Neal?"

Mrs. Franklin looked startled.

"I did not know I had such a tell-tale face," she said. "Yes, you have
guessed it, Cynthia. I cannot help feeling worried about him. I have not
heard from him for some time, and that makes me uneasy. But it is just
fancy, and will pass off. Probably there will be a letter from him
to-night."

Cynthia also had remarked on Neal's silence, and this confirmed her
fears. She did not say anything more to Mrs. Franklin, however, for Neal
had again made her promise to repeat nothing he had told her.

"I'll never confide in you again if you tell," he had said; so, of
course, Cynthia had promised.

Her mind was busy during the remainder of the trip to Boston, and when
the train glided into the station she had determined to put her thoughts
into action.

"We will go to Shreve's and then to Bigelow's to look at watches," said
Mrs. Franklin, as they walked across the Common. "We had better look at
both places before you decide."

"I have changed my mind, mamma. I don't think I will buy a watch."

"Why, Cynthia!" exclaimed Mrs. Franklin, almost stopping short in her
surprise; "you want one so much!"

"No, I don't think I do--at least not just now. Let us just go buy the
clothes, and I'll keep Aunt Betsey's money a little longer."

She would give no further explanation, and her mother could not induce
her even to glance at the watches in Shreve's window. No; she had
decided that she did not need one.

When they reached home she took the money and went to her own room. She
was standing by the window, carefully packing the coins in a little box
with cotton, and about to do it up for the mail--for she knew no better
way of sending the money--when she heard the sound of wheels on the
drive.

Looking out, she saw one of the depot carriages approaching, and in the
vehicle was Neal himself.

Full of apprehension, dreading she knew not what, Cynthia dropped the
box of money and flew down stairs.

It was not vacation, it was the middle of the school-term.

Why had Neal come home?

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 817.

CORPORAL FRED.

A Story of the Riots.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.

CHAPTER VII.

Even that drive of a dozen blocks was full of excitement. As the buggy
whirle