She sprang out of bed with a glad little laugh; the day had a grand beginning, spilling sunshine and bird-song into every corner of her room, and to Patsy's optimistic soul a good beginning insured a better ending. As she dressed she planned that ending to her own liking and according to the most approved rules of dramatic construction: The tinker should turn out a wandering genius, for in her heart she could not believe the accusations she had hurled against him the night past; when they reached Arden they would come upon the younger Burgeman, contemplating immediate suicide; this would give her her cue, and she would administer trust and a general bracer with one hand as she removed the revolver with the other; in gratitude he would divulge the truth about the forgery--he did it to save the honor of some lady--after which the tinker would sponsor him, tramping him off on the road to take the taste of gold out of his mouth and teach him the real meaning of life. Patsy had no difficulty with her construction until she came to the final curtain; here she hesitated. She might trail off to find King Midas and square Billy with him, or--the curtain might drop leaving her right center, wishing both lads "God-speed." Neither ending was entirely satisfactory, however; the mental effect of the tinker going off with some one else--albeit it was another lad--was anything but satisfying. The house was strangely quiet. Patsy stopped frequently in her playmaking to listen for some sounds of human occupancy other than her own, but there was none. "Poor lad! Maybe I killed him last night when I kicked the tea-things down the stairs after him; or, most likely, the O'Connell temper has him stiffened out with fear so he daren't move hand or foot." A moment later she came down the stairs humming, "Blow, blow, thou winter wind," her eyes dancing riotously. Now, by all rights, dramatic or otherwise, the tinker should have been on hand, waiting her entrance. But tinker there was none; nothing but emptiness--and a breakfast-tray, spread and ready for her in the pantry. Curiosity, uneasiness mastered her pride and she called--once--twice--several times. But there came no answering sound save the quickening of her own heart-beats under the pressure of her held breath. She was alone in the house.