Penrod's being a comfort?"

"Yes, and I kept thinking and thinking and thinking about it till I
couldn't stand it any----"

"By GEORGE!" shouted Mr. Schofield startlingly, stooping to look
under the piano. A statement that he had suddenly remembered his son's
presence would be lacking in accuracy, for the highly sensitized Penrod
was, in fact, no longer present. No more was Duke, his faithful dog.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he returned, striding to the open window and looking out. "Go
on."

"Oh," she moaned, "it must be kept from Clara--and I'll never hold up my
head again if John Farry ever hears of it!"

"Hears of WHAT?"

"Well, I just couldn't stand it, I got so curious; and I thought of
course if Miss Spence HAD become a little unbalanced it was my duty to
know it, as Penrod's mother and she his teacher; so I thought I would
just call on her at her apartment after school and have a chat and see
and I did and--oh----"

"Well?"

"I've just come from there, and she told me--she told me! Oh, I've NEVER
known anything like this!"

"WHAT did she tell you?"

Mrs. Schofield, making a great effort, managed to assume a temporary
appearance of calm. "Henry," she said solemnly, "bear this in mind:
whatever you do to Penrod, it must be done in some place when Clara
won't hear it. But the first thing to do is to find him."

Within view of the window from which Mr. Schofield was gazing was the
closed door of the storeroom in the stable, and just outside this door
Duke was performing a most engaging trick.

His young master had taught Duke to "sit up and beg" when he wanted
anything, and if that didn't get it, to "speak." Duke was facing the
closed door and sitting up and begging, and now he also spoke--in a
loud, clear bark.

There was an open transom over the door, and from this descended--hurled
by an unseen agency--a can half filled with old paint.

It caught the small besieger of the door on his thoroughly surprised
right ear, encouraged him to some remarkable acrobatics, and turned
large portions of him a dull blue. Allowing only a moment to perplexity,
and deciding, after a single and evidently unappetizing experiment,
not to cleanse himself of paint, the loyal animal resumed his quaint,
upright posture.

Mr. Schofield seated himself on the window-sill, whence he could keep in
view that pathetic picture of unrequited love.

"Go on with your story, mamma," he said. "I think I can find Penrod when