Her new friend nodded and seemed to agree. "I suppose that's what you
meant when you said he wasn't coming back but didn't know it yet?"

"Yes, Mr. Parcher."

He rested an elbow upon the gate-post, gazing down with ever-increasing
esteem. "Of course I know your last name," he said, "but I'm afraid I've
forgotten your other one."

"It's Jane."

"Jane," said Mr. Parcher, "I should like to do something for you."

Jane looked down, and with eyes modestly lowered she swallowed the last
fragment of the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar which had
been the constantly evanescent companion of their little walk together.
She was not mercenary; she had sought no reward.

"Well, I guess I must run home," she said. And with one lift of her
eyes to his and a shy laugh--laughter being a rare thing for Jane--she
scampered quickly to the corner and was gone.

But though she cared for no reward, the extraordinary restlessness of
William, that evening, after dinner, must at least have been of great
interest to her. He ascended to his own room directly from the table,
but about twenty minutes later came down to the library, where Jane
was sitting (her privilege until half after seven) with her father and
mother. William looked from one to the other of his parents and seemed
about to speak, but did not do so. Instead, he departed for the upper