trusted with more and more responsibility, and believed my future was
secure. Then came the final blow.

I saw the news in the paper when I went out to lunch. "Embezzler and His
Companion Caught in Rio Janeiro. He Commits Suicide When Notified of
His Arrest." These headlines stared at me as I opened the paper at the
restaurant table. My father had shot himself when the police came. I
read it with scarcely more than a vague feeling of pity for him. It was
of Mother that I thought. The news must be kept from her. If she should
hear of it! What should I do? I went first of all to the lawyer's
office: he was out of town for the day. I wandered up and down the
streets for an hour. Then I went back to the bank. There I found a
telegram from Doctor Quimby: "Mrs. Paine very ill. Come on first train."
I knew what it meant. Mother had heard the news; the shock which the
doctor dreaded had had its effect.

I reached Denboro the next morning. Lute met me at the station. From his
disjointed and lengthy story I gathered that Mother had been "feelin'
fust-rate for her" until the noon before. "I come back from the
post-office," said Lute, "and I was cal'latin' to read the newspaper,
but Dorindy had some everlastin' chore or other for me to do--I believe
she thinks 'em up in her sleep--and I left the paper on the dinin'-room
table and went out to the barn. Dorindy she come along to boss me, as
usual. When we went back to the house there was Mrs. Comfort on the
dinin'-room floor--dead, we was afraid at fust. The paper was alongside
of her, so we judge she was just a-goin' to read it when she was took.
The doctor says it's a paralysis or appleplexy or somethin'. We carried
her into the bedroom, but she ain't spoke sence."

She did not speak for weeks and when she did it was to ask for me.