is?"

The notes fell over the banisters into the hall below.

Carroll watched them touch the floor as he answered, "My dear sister,
I don't know, but boys have played truant before, and survived it;
and I have strong hopes of our dear boy." Carroll's voice, though
droll, was exceedingly soft and soothing. He put an arm again around
his wife, drew her close to him, and pressed her head against his
shoulder. "Dear, you will be ill," he said. "The boy is all right."

"I am sure this time he is shot," moaned Mrs. Carroll.

"My dear Amy!"

"Now, Arthur, you can laugh," said his sister, coming down the
stairs, the embroidered ruffles of her white cambric skirt fluttering
around her slender ankles in pink silk stockings, and her little feet
thrust into French-heeled slippers, one of which had an enormous bow
and buckle, the other nothing at all. "You may laugh," said Anna
Carroll, in a sweet, challenging voice, "but why is it so unlikely?
Eddy Carroll has had everything but shooting happen to him."

"Yes, he has been everything except shot," moaned Mrs. Carroll.

"My dearest dear, don't worry over such a thing as that!"

"But, Arthur," pleaded Mrs. Carroll, "what else is there left for us
to worry about?"