“There’s something far more important than those trifles,” glowered Eugene, “Judge Peterson has rallied and the doctor says he may read the will this evening. We’ve got to go over there exactly at seven and not keep him waiting. The doctor is awfully particular about exciting him. And I want to get this thing fixed up right away. They say the Judge has heart trouble and might drop off at any time now and that would make no telling how much more delay. This is serious business for us and you needn’t sit there and trifle about the village people! Joyce has got to be _found_, and _found right away_. Do you understand?” “Well find her then!” retorted his wife. “You talk as if it was my fault she went away. Haven’t I slaved all day doing her work? And I’m done now. I’m _just done_!” and Nannette burst into angry tears and ran upstairs to her room, slamming the door and locking it behind her. CHAPTER V For three-quarters of an hour Eugene made it lively for his family. He stalked upstairs, captured his pampered young son in the act of purloining one of his clean handkerchiefs, gave him a cuff on the ear and ordered him in no gentle tones to go to one end of the village as fast as his legs could fly and find out if Joyce was at Auntie Summers or had been there, and demand her presence at home at once on important business. He jerked a library book away from his daughter and sent her to the other end of town to make the same inquiry at a home where Joyce had been a frequent visitor, and then he strode to his own door and shook it demanding entrance in such a tone that Nannette dared not ignore it. He gave his hysterical wife a rough shake and told her it was no time to indulge her temper, that action was necessary. She must get to work on the telephone at once and find Joyce. They must meet that appointment at Judge Peterson’s on the hour or they might lose everything. The son had said that his father was very insistent about having Joyce present when he read the will. It would look very queer if Joyce didn’t turn up in time. He succeeded in frightening Nannette sufficiently so that she wiped her eyes and went to the telephone, calling up one and another of Joyce’s friends, and in honeyed tones asking if she had stopped there on her way home and might she speak to her a minute, there was an errand she wanted done on the way back that couldn’t wait. But one and all said that Joyce had not been there that day, and two women answered, “Why, I heard Joyce had gone away on a visit” so that Nannette turned from her fruitless task at last with a much disturbed face. “She isn’t in town,” she said, “There isn’t another place I can think of to call.”