“Not a word,” he said. “Funny, ain't it? It don't seem a bit like him. And he can't be to Washin'ton, because all them letters came back. I--I swan to man, I'm beginnin' to get worried.” “Worried? I'm pretty nigh crazy! What does Phoebe Dawes say?” “She don't say much. It's pretty tough, when everything else is workin' out so fine, thanks to her, to have this happen. No, she don't say much, but she acts pretty solemn.” “Say, Mr. Tidditt?” “Yes, what is it?” “You don't s'pose anything that happened betwixt her and Cap'n Whittaker that afternoon is responsible for--for his stayin' away so, do you? You know what he told me to tell her--about her not comin' here?” Asaph fidgeted with the wet cap. “Aw, that ain't nothin',” he stammered. “That is, I hope it ain't. I did say somethin' to him that--but Phoebe understands. She's a smart woman.” “You haven't told them boardin' house tattletales about the--Emmie, you go fetch me a card of matches from the kitchen, won't you--of what's been found out about that Thomas thing?” “Course I ain't. Didn't Peabody say not to tell a soul till we was sure? S'pose I'd tell Keturah and Angie? Might's well paint it on a sign and be done with it. No, no! I've kept mum and you do the same. Well, I must be goin'. Hope to goodness we hear some good news from Whit by to-morrer.” But when to-morrow came news of any kind was unobtainable. No trains could get through, and the telephone and telegraph wires were out of commission, owing to the great storm. Bayport was buried under a white coverlet, three feet thick on a level, which shone in the winter sun as if powdered with diamond dust. The street-shoveling brigade, meaning most of the active male citizens, was busy with plows and shovels. Simmons's was deserted in the evenings, for most of the regular habitues went to bed after supper, tired out. Two days of this. Then Gabe Lumley, his depot wagon replaced by a sleigh, drove the panting Daniel into the yard of the Cy Whittaker place. Gabe was much excited. He had news of importance to communicate and was puffed up in consequence. “The wire's all right again, Georgianna,” he said to the housekeeper, who had hurried to the door to meet him. “Fust message just come through. Guess who it's for?” “Stop your foolishness, Gabe Lumley!” ordered Miss Taylor. “Hand over that telegram this minute. Don't you stop to talk! Hand it over!” Gabe didn't intend to be “corked” thus peremptorily. “It's pretty important news, Georgianna,” he declared. “Kind of bad news, too. I think I'd ought to prepare you for it, sort of. When Cap'n Obed Pepper died, I--” “DIED! For the land sakes! WHAT are you sayin'? Give me that, you foolhead! Give it to me!” She snatched the telegram from him and tore it open. It was not as bad as might have been, but it was bad enough. Lawyer Peabody wired that Captain Cyrus Whittaker was at his home in Ostable, sick in bed, and threatened with pneumonia.