he top of the
stairs. She stood there, holding an unbuttoned dressing-sack tightly
across her bosom. The day was warm and neither of the ladies had
dressed. "But, Arthur, he has not been home since morning," said Anna
Carroll, "and Martin has been to the school-house, and the master
says that Eddy did not return at all after the noon intermission, and
he did not come home to dinner, after all."

"Yes, he did not come home to dinner," said Mrs. Carroll; "and the
butcher did send the roast of veal, after all. I was afraid he would
not, because he had not been paid for so long, and I thought Eddy
would come home so hungry. But the butcher did send it, but Eddy did
not come. He cannot have had a thing to eat since morning, and all he
had for breakfast were rolls and coffee. Thee egg-woman would not
leave any more eggs, she said, until she was paid for the last two
lots, and--"

Carroll pulled out a wallet and handed a roll of notes, not to his
wife, but to his sister Anna, who came half-way down the stairs and
reached down a long, slender white arm for it.

"There," said he, "pay up the butcher and the egg-woman to-morrow. At
least--"

"I understand," said Anna, nodding.

"What do you care whether the butcher or the egg-woman are paid or
not, when all the boy we've got is lost?" asked Mrs. Carroll, looking
up into her husband's face with the tears rolling over her cheeks.

"That's so," said Anna, and she gave the roll of notes a toss away
from her with a passionate gesture. "Arthur, where do you suppose he
is?"

The notes fell over the banisters into the hall below.

Carroll watched them touch the floor as he answered, "My dear sister,
I don't know, but boys have played truant before, and survived it;
and I have strong hopes of our dear boy." Carroll's voice, though
droll, was exceedingly soft and soothing. He put an arm again around
his wife, drew her close to him, and pressed her head against his
shoulder. "Dear, you will be ill," he said. "The boy is all right."

"I am sure this time he is shot," moaned Mrs. Carroll.

"My dear Amy!"

"Now, Arthur, you can laugh," said his sister, coming down the
stairs, the embroidered ruffles of her white cambric skirt fluttering
around her slender ankles in pink silk stockings, and her little feet
thrust into French-heeled slippers, one of which had an enormous bow
and buckle, the other nothing at all. "You may laugh," said Anna
Carroll, in a sweet, challenging voice, "b