Lois drank the little glass of wine without any demur. Her mother
glanced sharply at the album as she took it.

"I can't imagine where Flora is," said Mrs. Maxwell.

"I saw somebody go out of the yard a while ago," said Lois.

"You did? Was she kind of stout with light hair?"

"Yes, 'm."

"It was Flora then. I don't see where she's gone. Mebbe she went down
to the store to get some more thread for her tidy. Now I guess you'll
feel better."

"Who's this a picture of?" asked Mrs. Field.

"Hold it up. Oh, that's Mis' John Robbins! She's dead. Yes, I guess
Flora must have gone after that thread. She'll show you how to make
that tidy, Lois, if you want to learn; it's real handsome. I guess
she'll be here before long."

But when Mrs. Maxwell had shown her guests all the photographs in the
album and a book of views in Palestine, and it was nearly four
o'clock, Flora still had not come.

"Do you see anybody comin'?" Mrs. Maxwell kept asking Lois at the
window.

Before Mrs. Maxwell spoke, a nervous vibration seemed to seize upon