iring and gracious presence he
found his self-complacency restored. He had simply been hungry for her;
so his breakfast was complete. He went back to his house with a mingled
feeling of jollity and guilt, but the moment he was with his family the
face of the boy returned. Where had he seen him? Why did the face give
him uneasiness? Why did he permit himself to be puzzled by it? No
reasoning, no diversion could drive it from his mind. Wherever he turned
during the long day and evening that white, scared face obtruded itself
upon him. He had noticed, as the lad lifted his umbrella, that he
carried a package of books under his arm, and naturally concluded that,
belated by the rain, he was on his way to school. He determined,
therefore, to watch him on the following morning, his own eyes
reinforced by those of his oldest boy.

The dark day passed away at last, and things were brought into more
homelike order by the wife of the house, so that the evening was cozy
and comfortable; and when the street lamps were lighted again and the
stars came out, and the north wind sounded its trumpet along the avenue,
the spirits of the family rose to the influence.

On the following morning, as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he,
with his boy, took a position at one of the windows, to watch for the
lad whose face had so impressed and puzzled him. On the other side of
the avenue a tall man came out, with a green bag under his arm, stepped
into a passing stage, and rolled away. Ten minutes later two lads
emerged with their books slung over their shoulders, and crossed toward
them.

"That's the boy--the one on the left," said Mr. Belcher. At the same
moment the lad looked up, and apparently saw the two faces watching him,
for he quickened his pace.

"That's Harry Benedict," exclaimed Mr. Belcher's son and heir. The words
were hardly out of his mouth when Mr. Belcher started from his chair,
ran down-stairs with all the speed possible within the range of safety,
and intercepted the lads at a side door, which opened upon the street
along which they were running.

"Stop, Harry, I want to speak to you," said the proprietor, sharply.

Harry stopped, as if frozen to the spot in mortal terror.

"Come along," said Thede Balfour, tugging at his hand, "you'll be late
at school."

Poor Harry could no more have walked than he could have flown. Mr.
Belcher saw the impression he had made upon him, and became soft and
insinuating in his manner