ioned brushing up against
a dead animal.

Perhaps Ellen was right after all. It didn't do for one to be
always thinking of dreadful subjects, of murders and such-like. It
made one go dotty--that's what it did.

And just as he was telling himself that, there came to the door a
loud knock, the peculiar rat-tat-tat of a telegraph boy. But before
he had time to get across the room, let alone to the front door,
Ellen had rushed through the room, clad only in a petticoat and
shawl.

"I'll go," she cried breathlessly. "I'll go, Bunting; don't you
trouble."

He stared at her, surprised, and followed her into the hall.

She put out a hand, and hiding herself behind the door, took the
telegram from the invisible boy. "You needn't wait," she said.
"If there's an answer we'll send it out ourselves." Then she tore
the envelope open--"Oh!" she said with a gasp of relief. "It's
only from Joe Chandler, to say he can't go over to fetch Daisy this
morning. Then you'll have to go."

She walked back into their sitting-room. "There!" she said.
"There it is, Bunting. You just read it."

"Am on duty this morning. Cannot fetch Miss Daisy as arranged.--
Chandler."

"I wonder why he's on duty?" said Bunting slowly, uncomfortably.
"I thought Joe's hours was as regular as clockwork--that nothing
could make any difference to them. However, there it is. I suppose
it'll do all right if I start about eleven o'clock? It may have
left off snowing by then. I don't feel like going out again just
now. I'm pretty tired this morning."

"You start about twelve," said his wife quickly.

"That'll give plenty of time."

The morning went on quietly, uneventfully. Bunting received a
letter from Old Aunt saying Daisy must come back next Monday, a
little under a week from now. Mr. Sleuth slept soundly, or, at
any rate, he made no sign of being awake; and though Mrs. Bunting
often, stopped to listen, while she was doing her room, there
came no sounds at all from overhead.

Scarcely aware that it was so, both Bunting and his wife felt more
cheerful than they had done for a long time. They had quite a
pleasant little chat when Mrs. Bunting came and sat down for a bit,
before going down to prepare Mr. Sleuth's breakfast.

"Daisy will be surprised to see you--not to say disappointed!" she
observed, and she could not help laughing a little to herself at
the thought. And when, at eleven, Bunting got up to go, she made
him stay on a little longer. "There