dn't keep the thoughts of Bob out of my mind. Saturday being a
holiday, I had allowed him to go off to spend the afternoon as he
chose; and, as it was unusually warm, there was little doubt where and
how he was spending it. He would strike a bee-line for that shady
mill-pond, and they would spend hours plashing in its cool and
delicious depths.

I looked at the clock; it was a few minutes past five, and Bob ought to
have been home long ago. What made him so late?

My fear was growing more intense every minute. The boy was in my mind
continually to the exclusion of everything else. Despite all my
philosophy and rigid common-sense, the conviction was fastening on me
that something dreadful had befallen him.

And what was that something? He had been drowned in the mill-pond. I
glanced out of the window, half expecting to see a party bearing the
lifeless body homeward. Thank Heaven, I was spared that woful sight,
but I discerned something else that sent a misgiving pang through me.

It was Mrs. Clarkson, our nearest neighbor, rapidly approaching, as if
the bearer of momentous tidings.

"She has come to tell me that Bob is drowned," I gasped, as my heart
almost ceased its beating.

I met her on the threshold, with a calmness of manner which belied the
tumult within. Greeting her courteously, I invited her inside, stating
that my wife was absent.

"I thank you," she said, "but it is not worth while. I thought I ought
to come over and tell you."

"Tell me what?" I inquired, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"Why, about the awful dream I had last night."

I was able to smile faintly, and was partly prepared for what was
coming.

"I am ready to hear it, Mrs. Clarkson."

"Why, you know it was Friday night, and I never had a dream on a Friday
night that didn't come true--never! Where's Bob?" she abruptly asked,
peering around me, as if to learn whether he was in the hall.

"He's off somewhere at play."

"Oh, Mr. Havens, you'll never see him alive again!"

Although startled in spite of myself, I was indignant.

"Have you any positive knowledge, Mrs. Clarkson, on the matter?"

"Certainly I have; didn't I just tell you about my dream?"

"A fudge for your dream!" I exclaimed, impatiently; "I don't believe in
any such nonsense."

"I pity you," she said, though why I should be pitied on that account
is hard to understand.

"But what was your dream?"

"I saw your Bob brought home drowned. Oh, I can