"What can he sit up for?" involuntarily exclaimed Constance.

"I don't know, unless it is that the work at the office is too heavy
for him," said Judith. "He has his own work to do there, and master's
as well."

"It is not at all heavy," said Constance. "There is an additional clerk
since papa's illness, you know. It cannot be that."

"It has to do with the office-books, for certain," returned Judith.
"Why else is he so particular in taking 'em into his room every night?"

"He takes--them--for safety," spoke Constance, in a very hesitating
manner, as if not feeling perfectly assured of the grounds for her
assertion.

"Maybe," sniffed Judith, in disbelief. "It can't be that he sits up to
read," she resumed. "Nobody in their senses would do that. Reading may
be pleasant to some folks, especially them story-books; but sleep is
pleasanter. This last two or three blessed nights, since that ill news
come to make us miserable, I question if he has gone to bed at all, for
his candle has only been put out when daylight came to shame it."

"But, Judith, how do you know all this?" exclaimed Constance, after a
few minutes' reflection. "You surely don't sit up to watch the light?"

"Pretty fit I should be for my work in the morning, if I did! No, Miss
Constance. I moved my bed round to the other corner, so as I could see
his window as I lay in it; and I have got myself into a habit of waking
up at all hours and looking. Truth to say, I'm not easy: fire is sooner