g.

"Do you suppose he can't manage to take you in, ma? Of course, any one
could."

"But he makes himself very pleasant, and studies, and keeps very quiet
out of school."

"Of course. Isn't that what I tell you? He's hiding. What do you
suppose he skulks away into town for once a week--eh?"

"Not to drink, I do hope?" said the lady.

"Whatever it is, I mean to get to the bottom of it, for the sake of the
school," said Jonah. "Fancy the mess we'd get into if it got known we
had a shady character here as a teacher!"

"But, Jonah, dear, it's only suspicion. He may be all right."

"Oh, anything _may_ be," retorted the philosophic Jonah. "The thing
is--is it?"

As Mrs Trimble was unable to answer this question, she retired from the
discussion, and hoped devoutly nothing was going to happen which would
necessitate her doing more work about the school than she at present
did.

The unconscious Jeffreys meanwhile was upstairs, washing himself before
starting for his weekly "evening out." He had more than usual before
him on this particular evening, as, besides calling at the post-office--
an errand he never missed--he had discovered another old bookshop across
the river which kept open till seven o'clock. And after that he had
promised Freddy and Teddy, with whom from the first he had kept up a
warm friendship, to call up at their house and help them mend their
tricycle. With this full programme before him, he lost no time in
starting on his travels; little dreaming that the quick pace at which he
strode along gave unwonted exercise to Mr Jonah Trimble, who, animated
by an amiable curiosity, dogged his footsteps at a respectful distance.

It was about five o'clock when Jeffreys reached the post-office. The
clerk knew him by this time, and this evening handed him a letter
without being asked. It was a short friendly line from Mr Frampton
with no news--at any rate about Forrester; and Trimble, as he watched
him emerge from the office, letter in hand, and haggard in face, chalked
down in in his own mind a first clue as to the mystery that was
exercising him.

From the post-office Jeffreys strolled leisurely down the streets toward
the bridge, stopping to look into some of the shops by the way, and
occasionally making Trimble's heart jump by looking behind him.

In due time he pulled up at the bookseller's shop. Trimble saw the
proprietor welcome his visitor with a nod which bespoke an acquaintance
of so