“No--it's not from Aunt Felicia,” he said in a thoughtful tone, his eyes studying the despatch. “I don't know whom it's from; it is signed T. Ballantree; I never heard of him before. He wants me to meet him at the Astor House to-day at eleven o'clock. Some business of your father's, I expect--see, it's dated Morfordsburg. Too bad, isn't it, blessed--but I must go. Here, boy”--this to the messenger, who was moving out of the door--“stop at the livery stable as you go by and tell them I won't want the horse and wagon, that I'm going to New York. All in a life-time, my blessed--but I'm dreadfully sorry.” “And you MUST go? Isn't it mean, Jack--and it's such a lovely day.” “Yes--but it can't be helped. What are you going to do with the sandwiches and chicken and things? And you had so much trouble making them. And you will be lonely, too.” “Why, I shall keep them till you come back, and we'll have a lovely feast at home,” she said with a light laugh in her effort to hide her feelings. “Oh, no, I shan't be lonely. You won't be gone long, Jack, will you, dear?” “I hope not.” His mind must no longer rest on the outing. There was work to do for Ruth as well as himself. His play time had come to a sudden end; the bell had rung and recess was over. He looked at his watch; there was just time to catch the train. She followed him to the door and kissed her hand as he swung down the path and through the gate, and watched him until he had disappeared behind the long wall of the factory; then she went in, put away the sandwiches and chicken, and the teapot and the cups and saucers, and emptied the ice. Yes, the day was spoiled, she said to herself--part of it anyway; but the night would come, and with it Jack would burst in with news of all he had seen and done, and they would each have an end of the table; their last dinner in the old home, where everything on which her eyes rested revived some memory of their happiness. But then there would be other outings at Morfordsburg, and so what mattered one day when there were so many left? And with this thought her tears dried up and she began to sing again as she busied herself about the house--bursting into a refrain from one of the operas she loved, or crooning some of the old-time melodies which her black mammy had taught her when a child. But now for Jack and what the day held for him of wonders and surprises. Some pessimistic wiseacre has said that all the dire and dreadful things in life drop out of a clear sky; that it is the unexpected which is to be feared, and that the unknown bridges are the ones in which dangers lurk and where calamity is to be feared.