The boy gazed at them with intense relish. He realized the joy of a coup. He had never been very important in his own estimation nor that of others. Now he knew what it was to be important. "Yes," he said, gayly; "they say she give her rat poison. They've sent for the sheriff from Alford." "She never did it in the world. Why, I went to school with her," gasped Mrs. Ayres. Sylvia had the same conviction, but she backed it with logic. "What should she do it for?" she demanded. "Miss Farrel was a steady boarder, and Lucinda ain't had many steady boarders lately, and she needed the money. Folks don't commit murder without reason. What reason was there?" "School ain't going to keep to-day," remarked the boy, with glee. "Of course it ain't," said Sylvia, angrily. "What reason do they give?" "I 'ain't heard of none," said the boy. "S'pose that will come out at the trial. Hannah Simmons is going to be arrested, too. They think she knowed something about it." "Hannah Simmons wouldn't hurt a fly," said Sylvia. "What makes them think she knew anything about it?" "Johnny Soule, that works at the hotel stable, says she did," said the boy. "They think he knows a good deal." Sylvia sniffed contemptuously. "That Johnny Soule!" said she. "He's half Canadian. Father was French. I wouldn't take any stock in what he said." "Lucinda never did it," said Mrs. Ayres. "I went to school with her." Lucy sobbed again wildly, then she laughed loudly. Her mother turned and looked at her. "Lucy," said she, "you go straight back up-stairs and put this out of your mind, or you'll be down sick. Go straight up-stairs and lie down, and I'll bring you up some of that nerve medicine Dr. Wallace put up for you. Maybe you can get to sleep." Lucy sobbed and laughed again. "Stop right where you are," said her mother, with a wonderful, firm gentleness--"right where you are. Put this thing right out of your mind. It's nothing you can help." Lucy sobbed and laughed again, and this time her laugh rang so wildly that the grocer's boy looked at her with rising alarm. He admired Lucy. "I say," he said. "Maybe she ain't dead, after all. I heard all this, but you never can tell anything by what folks say. You had better mind your ma and put it all out of your head." The grocer's boy and Lucy had been in the same class at school. She had never noticed him, but he had loved her as from an immeasurable distance. Both were very young. Lucy lifted a beautiful, frightened face, and stared at him. "Isn't it so?" she cried. "I dare say it ain't. You had better mind your ma." "I dare say it's all a rumor," said Sylvia, soothingly. Mrs. Ayres echoed her. "All a made-up story, I think," said she. "Go right up-stairs, Lucy, and put it out of your head." Lucy crept up-stairs with soft sobs, and they heard a door close. Then the boy spoke again. "It's so, fast enough," he said, in a whisper, "but there ain't any need for her to know it yet." "No, there isn't, poor child," said Sylvia.