find the young men both safely at home."

"Richard was to leave early this morning."

"I remember."

Sadly they returned, and the two boys walked with them, gravely and
earnestly propounding one explanation after another.

"You'd better go back to the house, Mary, and I'll go on to the
village with the boys. We'll consult with your father, John; he's a
thoughtful man, and--"

"And he's a coroner, too--" said John.

"Yes, but if there's nobody found, who's he goin' to sit on?"

"They don't sit on the body, they sit on the jury," said John, with
contempt.

"Don't I know that? But they've got to find the body, haven't they,
before they can sit on anything? Guess I know that much."

"Now, boys," said Bertrand, "this may turn out to be a very grave
matter, and you must keep silent about it. It won't do to get the town
all stirred up about it and all manner of rumors afloat. It must be
looked into quietly first, by responsible people, and you must keep
all your opinions and surmises to yourselves until the truth can be
learned."

"Don't walk, Bertrand; take the carryall, and these can be put under
the seat. Boys, if you'll go back there in the garden, you'll find
some more apples, and I'll fetch you out some cookies to go with
them." The boys briskly departed. "I don't want Betty to see them, and
we'll be silent until we know what to tell her," Mary added, as they
walked slowly up the front path.

Bertrand turned off to the stable, carrying the sad trophies with him,
and Mary entered the house. She looked first for Betty, but no Betty
was to be found, and the children were at home clamoring for something
to eat. They always came home from school ravenously hungry. Mary
hastily packed them a basket of fruit and cookies and sent them to
play picnic down by the brook. Still no Betty appeared.

"Where is she?" asked Bertrand, as he entered the kitchen after
bringing up the carryall.

"I don't know. She may have gone over to Clara Dean's. She spoke of
going there to-day. I'm glad--rather."

"Yes, yes."

A little later in the day, almost closing time at the bank, James
Walters and Bertrand Ballard entered and asked to see the Elder. They
were shown into the director's room, and found him seated alone at the
great table in the center. He pushed his papers one side and rose,
greeting them with his grave courtesy, as usual.

Mr. Walters, a shy man of few words, looked silently at Mr. Ballard
to speak, while the