coming home from the
library!"

"Mother," said Don, "that's right! It must have been just about one
o'clock, wasn't it?"

She looked at him steadily for a time, as she dropped the receiver, her
own face a trifle pale. "Yes--we hadn't gone to sleep at the time it
happened. He was killed right in front of his own house, Miss Julia
says."

"And where is that?--you see, I don't know much about the town."

"Beyond the square, about three blocks from the farther corner--the
little house with the low fence in front, and the deep front yard."

"We didn't pass that when we came up from the station?"

"No, we came another street. But, Don----"

"Yes?"

"When you were running last night, you must have passed right close to
there! You didn't see anything strange?"

"Of course not! I'd have looked into it. I don't recall that particular
house.

"Well," he added, after a moment's silence, "in spite of all that
happened yesterday between him and us, I'm not going to call him
anything but a good man--now."

She looked at him strangely--studied his face steadily.

"I'll be going out now, I think--I'm going to run over to see Julia for
a time. Please don't go out on the street, Don. Stay right here. We got
into trouble enough yesterday."

"You needn't fear," said he. "There's nothing and nobody in this town I
want to see. I'll be glad when I shake the dust of it off my feet--when
I once get squared away in my own business you shall leave this place
and live with me."

And then, as there came to him again and again the anticipated pain of
parting with the one he himself loved, he came up to his mother and put
his arms once more upon her shoulders. Again her hands found his hair.
She cast a quick glance about her, as though in his defense.

"Don," said she, "I think I'll never get over thinking of you as just a
boy, a little boy."

He tried to smile. "Pity you didn't drown me in the pool yonder," said
he.

It was the most cruel thing he could have found to say, although he
spoke only in his own bitterness, careless, as a man so often is, of a
woman's hurts. But she left him without comment; and soon he had resumed
his own restless walking up and down in the narrow quarters which seemed
to him such a prison.

Meantime all Spring Valley was afoot and agog over this news. It was the
most sensational thing that had happened, as Aaron Craybill said, since
Ben Wilson's wife went crazy out on the farm, come four years ag