"It will be very hard to wait for a letter from him," murmured Mrs. Goodwin. "I have tried to be brave, but----" "You have been brave and fine," and her husband kissed her. "Perhaps I should not have let him go. I find it difficult to apply myself to my day's work. I can write to the canal authorities asking them to make a search, but we could not expect a reply before three weeks." At breakfast next morning Eleanor, whose faith in the ability of her masterful brother to conquer in any circumstances was still unshaken, declared with the air of one who had solved a problem: "If I were the parent of an only son who was lost, strayed, or stolen, do you know what I'd do? I should take that money-order that has made all the trouble and use it to pay my way to the Isthmus of Panama as soon as I could." "It would take a good deal more than forty dollars," replied Mrs. Goodwin, "and your father could not leave his business." "Very well, but father can find another position, and he can never find another son like Walter." Eleanor's eyes sparkled with determination. "We may be poor just now, but you have said a hundred times that you are rich in your two children. It seems to me that you have lost half your fortune. At least, you don't know where he is." Mr. Horatio Goodwin made no argument. His gaze was rather absent as he sat looking at his impulsive daughter. She had echoed what was in his own mind, but he could not make it seem practicable. Mrs. Goodwin revealed what was closest to her own heart by exclaiming unsteadily: "I was awake most of the night trying to plan this very thing, Horatio. Oh, I want you to go to Panama and bring Walter straight home with you. Why, Eleanor and I would take in washing if necessary. Is it impossible?" "Nothing is impossible if you try hard enough," gravely affirmed Eleanor. "There is Joan of Arc, for instance. She is my favorite character in history. Just think what she went through----" "The comparison is a little far-fetched," said Mr. Goodwin, as he looked at the clock and went into the hall to put on his overcoat. He was usually at his desk on the stroke of the clock, but now he lingered. All his days he had walked in the beaten path of habit, a methodical man unaccustomed to veering off at sudden tangents. Now he had been violently lifted from the rut and his mind was in rebellion. He had been afraid of poverty, but this anxiety was overshadowed. Mrs. Goodwin followed him into the hall. Her troubled face was so eloquent that he said: "It is not really impossible, my dear. I could raise the money for the trip, either on my note, or by placing a small mortgage on the house." "You need not worry about leaving us," she replied. "There is a little left in the savings-bank, and we can get along nicely."