“Think not?” he said, brightening. “I ordered the livery-stable to have a carriage here in lots of time.” “They did,” said Mrs. Parcher, severely. “About five dollars' worth.” “Well, I don't mind that,” he returned, putting his feet up again. “After all, she was a mighty fine little girl in her way. The only trouble with me was that crowd of boys;--having to listen to them certainly liked to killed me, and I believe if she'd stayed just one more day I'd been a goner! Of all the dam boys I ever--” He paused, listening. “Mr. Parcher!” a youthful voice repeated. He rose, and, separating two of the vines which screened the end of the porch from the street, looked out. Two small maidens had paused upon the sidewalk, and were peering over the picket fence. “Mr. Parcher,” said Jane, as soon as his head appeared between the vines--“Mr. Parcher, Miss Pratt's gone. She's gone away on the cars.” “You think so?” he asked, gravely. “We saw her,” said Jane. “Rannie an' I were there. Willie was goin' to chase us, I guess, but we went in the baggage-room behind trunks, an' we saw her go. She got on the cars, an' it went with her in it. Honest, she's gone away, Mr. Parcher.” Before speaking, Mr. Parcher took a long look at this telepathic child. In his fond eyes she was a marvel and a darling. “Well--THANK you, Jane!” he said. Jane, however, had turned her head and was staring at the corner, which was out of his sight. “Oo-oo-ooh!” she murmured. “What's the trouble, Jane?” “Willie!” she said. “It's Willie an' that Joe Bullitt, an' Johnnie Watson, an' Mr. Wallace Banks. They're with Miss May Parcher. They're comin' right here!” Mr. Parcher gave forth a low moan, and turned pathetically to his wife, but she cheered him with a laugh. “They've only walked up from the station with May,” she said. “They won't come in. You'll see!” Relieved, Mr. Parcher turned again to speak to Jane--but she was not there. He caught but a glimpse of her, running up the street as fast as she could, hand in hand with her companion. “Run, Rannie, run!” panted Jane. “I got to get home an' tell mamma about it before Willie. I bet I ketch Hail Columbia, anyway, when he does get there!” And in this she was not mistaken: she caught Hail Columbia. It lasted all afternoon. It was still continuing after dinner. Thatt evening, when an oft-repeated yodel, followed by a shrill-wailed, “Jane-ee! Oh, Jane-NEE-ee!” brought her to an open window down-stairs. In the early dusk she looked out upon the washed face of Rannie Kirsted, who stood on the lawn below. “Come on out, Janie. Mamma says I can stay outdoors an' play till half past eight.” Jane shook her head. “I can't. I can't go outside the house till to-morrow. It's because we walked after Willie with our stummicks out o' joint.” “Pshaw!” Rannie cried, lightly. “My mother didn't do anything to me for that.” “Well, nobody told her on you,” said Jane, reasonably.