station.

"Mr. Eddy did not come home this noon," said the man, with much
deference. He was full of awe at his employer, being a simple sort,
and this was his second place, his first having been with the salt of
the earth who made no such show as Carroll. He reasoned that virtue
and appearances must increase according to the same ratio. "Mrs.
Carroll sent me to the school this noon," said the man, further, "and
the ladies are very much worried. The young ladies and Marie are out
trying to find him." Marie was the maid, a Hungarian girl.

"Well, drive home as fast as you can," said Carroll, with a sigh. He
reflected that his drive was spoiled; he also reflected that when the
boy was found he should be punished. Yet he did not look out of
temper, and, in fact, was not. It was in reality almost an
impossibility for Arthur Carroll to be out of temper with one of his
own family.

When Carroll reached home his wife came running down the stairs in a
long, white tea-gown, and flung her arms around his neck. "Oh,
Arthur!" she sobbed out. "What do you think has happened? What do you
think?"

Carroll raised his wife's lovely face, all flushed and panting with
grief and terror like a child's, and kissed it softly. "Nothing, Amy;
nothing, dear," he said. "Don't, my darling. You will make yourself
ill. Nothing has happened."

His sister Anna's voice, clear and strained, came from the top of the
stairs. She stood there, holding an unbuttoned dressing-sack tightly