do such a crazy thing,
for it seemed to her that the members of her family were almost helpless
without her guidance; they were apt to do anything--anything at all--or
to catch anything. The more she thought about her having left these
irresponsible harebrains unprotected and undirected for three days, the
less she was able to account for her action. It seemed to her that
she must have been a little flighty; but, shaking her head grimly, she
decided that flightiness was not a good excuse. And she made up her mind
that if, upon her arrival, she found poor little neglected Penrod (and
Margaret and Mr. Schofield) spared to her, safe and sound, she would
make up to them--especially to Penrod--for all her lack of care in the
past, and for this present wild folly of spending three whole days and
nights with her sister, far away in Dayton, Illinois. Consequently,
when Mrs. Schofield descended from that train, she wore the hurried but
determined expression that was always the effect upon her of a guilty
conscience.

"You're SURE Penrod is well now?" she repeated, after Mr. Schofield had
seated himself at her side in a vehicle known to its driver as a "deepoe
hack".

"'Well NOW?'" he said. "He's been well all the time. I've told you twice
that he's all right."

"Men can't always see." She shook her head impatiently. "I haven't been
a bit sure he was well lately. I don't think he's been really well for
two or three months. How has he seemed to-day?"

"In fair health," Mr. Schofield replied thoughtfully. "Della called me
up at the office to tell me that one of the telephone-men had come into
the house to say that if that durn boy didn't quit climbing their poles
they'd have him arrested. They said he--"

"That's it!" Mrs. Schofield interrupted quickly. "He's nervous. It's
some nervous trouble makes him act like that. He's not like himself at
all."

"Sometimes," Mr. Schofield said, "I wish he weren't."

"When he's himself," Mrs. Schofield went on anxiously, "he's very quiet
and good; he doesn't go climbing telegraph-poles and reckless things
like that. And I noticed before I went away that he was growing twitchy,
and seemed to be getting the habit of making unpleasant little noises in
his throat."

"Don't fret about that," her husband said. "He was trying to learn Sam
Williams's imitation of a bullfrog's croak. I used to do that myself
when I was a boy. Gl-glump, gallump! No; I can't do it now. But nearly
all boys feel