“Yes, it must be,” said Louise. “And—that was that boy, wasn’t it?—the same one she sent to say she was coming to the party. My! That was poor! She wasn’t very bright to do that, Nellie.” Cornelia did not answer. She had dropped her face into her hands, and was trembling. “Nellie, dear!” cried the little sister, kneeling before her and gathering her sister’s head into her young arms. “You mustn’t feel that way. God is taking care of us. He helped us before, you know. And He’s sent Mr. Maxwell. He’s just like an angel, isn’t he? Don’t you know that verse, ‘My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions’ mouths’. Mother used to read us that story so often when Harry and I were going to sleep. Let’s just kneel down and pray; and pretty soon Carey ’ll come back all right, I shouldn’t wonder. I know he didn’t mean to be away. He promised Grace; and I kind of don’t think he likes that other girl so awfully any more now, do you?” “No, I think not; but, dear, I’m afraid this is a trick. I’m afraid they mean to keep him away to pay him back.” “Yes, I know,” said the wise little sister. “I read that note. You dropped it out of your pocket. Grace Kendall never wrote that. It isn’t her writing. She put her name in my birthday book, and she doesn’t make her Gs like that. She makes ’em with a long curl to the handle. They thought they were pretty smart; but Carey and Mr. Maxwell ’ll beat them to it, I’m sure, for they’ve got our God on their side. I’m glad Harry went too. Harry’s got a lot of sense; and, if anything happens, Harry can run back and tell.” “O darling!” Cornelia clung to the little girl. “Well, it might—” said the child. “I’m glad father isn’t here. I hope it’s all over before he gets back. Was he coming back before church?” Cornelia shook her head. “He’s going to stay with Mr. Baker while his wife goes to church.” “Then let’s pray now, Nellie.” They knelt together beside the big gray chair in the silence of the twilight, hand in hand, and put up silent petitions; and then they got up and went to the window. The city had that gentle, haloed look of a chastened child in the afterglow of the sunset; and soft violets and purples were twisting in misty wreaths about the edges of the night. Bells were calling in the distance. A far-away chime could just be heard in tender waves that almost obliterated the melody. The Sabbath hush was in the sky, broken now and again by harsh, rasping voices and laughter as a car sped by on the way home from some pleasure trip. Something hallowed seemed to linger above the little house, and all about was a sweet quiet. The neighbors had for the moment hushed their chatter. Now and again a far-distant twang of a cheap victrola broke out and died away, and then the silence would close around them again. The two sat waiting breathlessly on the pretty front porch that Carey had made, for Carey to come home. But Carey did not come.