"Mother would never let me do that," returned Tom; and he probably made a sign to indicate that his mother was within hearing, as both voices dropped to a lower key; but Mrs. Grape still heard distinctly. "Are you going to take French leave yourself, Bill?" added young Grape. "How else shall you manage to get off?" "Oh, Monday will be holiday with us; it's a Saint's Day. Look here, Tom; you may as well come. Fishing, up at Powick, is rare fun; and I've some prime bait." "I can't," pleaded Tom: "no good thinking about it. You must get one of your own fellows instead." "Suppose I must. Well, good-night." "Good-night, Bill." "I touched you last," added the strange voice. There was a shout of laughter, the door flew back, Tom's hand came in to snatch up his cap, which lay on a table near, and he went flying after the other boy. They had entered upon the fascinating game of "Titch-touch-last." Mrs. Grape got up, laid her finished cap upon the table, shook the odds and ends of threads from her black gown, and began to put her needles and cotton in the little work-box. While she was doing this, Dolly came in from the kitchen. She looked round the room. "Why, where's Tom, mother?" "Some boy called to speak to him, and they are running about the road at Titch-touch-last. The cap looks nice, does it not, Dolly?" "Oh, very," assented Dolly. It was one she had netted for her mother; and the border was spread out in the shape of a fan--the fashion then--and trimmed with yellow gauze ribbon. The voices of the boys were still heard, but at a distance. Dolly went to the door, and looked out. "Yes, there the two are," she cried. "What boy is it, mother?" "I don't know," replied Mrs. Grape. "I did not see him, or recognize his voice. Tom called him 'Bill.'" She went also to the door as she spoke, and stood by her daughter on the low broad step. The voices were fainter now, for the lads, in their play, were drawing further off and nearer to the town. Mrs. Grape could see them dodging around each other, now on this side the road, now on that. It was a remarkably light night, the moon, in the cloudless sky, almost dazzlingly bright. "They'll make themselves very hot," she remarked, as she and Dolly withdrew indoors. "What silly things boys are!" Carrying her cap upstairs, Mrs. Grape then attended to two or three household matters. Half-an-hour had elapsed when she returned to the parlour. Tom had not come in. "How very thoughtless of him!" she cried; "he must know it is his bed-time." But neither she nor Dolly felt any uneasiness until the clock struck ten. A shade of it crept over Mrs. Grape then. What could have become of the boy? Standing once more upon the door-step, they gazed up and down the road. A few stragglers were passing up from the town: more people would be out on a Saturday night than on any other.