The two families dwelt comfortably enough together in the new house on Prairie. There was room and to spare, even after two children--Belle, and then Lottie--were born to the Paysons. The house was thought a grand affair, with its tin bathtub and boxed-in wash-bowl on the second floor, besides an extra washroom on the first, off the hall; a red and yellow stained-glass window in the dining room; a butler's pantry (understand, no butler; Chicago boasted no more than half a dozen of these); a fine furnace in the lower hall just under the stairway; oilcloth on the first flight of stairs; Brussels on the second; ingrain on the third; a liver-colored marble mantel in the front parlor, with anemic replicas in the back parlor and the more important bedrooms. It was an age when every possible article of household furniture was disguised to represent something it was not. A miniature Gothic cathedral was really a work-basket; a fauteuil was, like as not, a music box. The Thrifts' parlor carpet was green, woven to represent a river flowing along from the back parlor folding doors to the street windows, with a pattern of full-sailed ships on it, and, by way of variety, occasional bunches of flowers strewn carelessly here and there, between the ships. On rare and thrilling occasions, during their infancy, Belle and little Lottie were allowed to crawl down the carpet river and poke a fascinated finger into a ship's sail or a floral garland. Carrie's two children were born in this house. Isaac and Hetty Thrift died in it. And in it Carrie was left worse than widowed. Samuel Payson must have been about forty-six when, having gathered together in the office of Thrift & Payson all the uninvested moneys--together with negotiable bonds, stocks, and securities--on which he could lay hands, he decamped and was never seen again. He must have been planning it for years. It was all quite simple. He had had active charge of the business. Again and again Isaac Thrift had turned over to Payson money entrusted him for investment by widows of lifelong friends; by the sons and daughters of old Chicago settlers; by lifelong friends themselves. This money Payson had taken, ostensibly for investment. He had carefully discussed its investment with his father-in-law, had reported such investments made. In reality he had invested not a penny. On it had been paid one supposed dividend, or possibly two. The bulk of it remained untouched. When his time came Samuel Payson gathered together the practically virgin sums and vanished to live some strange life of his own of which he had been dreaming behind that truckling manner and the Heepish face, with its red-rimmed eyes. He had been a model husband, father, and son-in-law. Chess with old Isaac, evenings; wool-windings for Mrs. Thrift; games with the two little girls; church on Sundays with Carrie. Between him and Charlotte little talk was wasted, and no pretense.