A slight sound caused them all—­Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore and Elsie—­to look toward the door opening into the hall.

Max stood there with a face from which every vestige of color had fled, his features quivering with emotion.

“What—­what is it about, papa?” he asked hoarsely.  “Oh, Grandpa Dinsmore, Grandma Elsie, don’t hide it from me!  I must know!”

“Max, my boy, how came you here?” Mr. Dinsmore asked in a kindly pitying tone, going to the lad and making him sit down, while he took a glass of water from the table and held it to his lips.

Max put it aside.  “My father?—­what about my father?”

His tone was full of agonized inquiry, and Mr. Dinsmore saw the question was not to be evaded.

“My poor fellow,” he said, “I am truly sorry you should be distressed by hearing what is as yet only a rumor:  fears are reported that your father’s vessel is lost; but nothing is known certainly yet, and we must hope for the best.”

For a moment the boy seemed utterly stunned; then, “I don’t believe it!  I won’t believe it!” he exclaimed.  “We can’t do without him; and God wouldn’t take him from us.  Would He, Grandma Elsie?” and his eyes sought hers with a look of anguished entreaty that she knew not how to withstand.

“My dear Max, I trust we shall have better news to-morrow,” she said tenderly; “but whatever comes, we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.  He is our kind, Heavenly Father, who loves us with far more than an earthly parent’s love, and will let no real evil befall any of His children.”

“Yes, and—­oh, I’m sure it couldn’t be good for Lulu and me to be without our father to help us to grow up right.”

No one present thought it necessary to combat that idea, or show that it might be a mistaken one, since it seemed to afford some comfort to the boy.

“We will hope for the best, Max; so do not let possibilities distress you,” Mr. Dinsmore said kindly.  “Come to the table now, and take some breakfast with us.”

“Thank you, sir; but I couldn’t eat,” returned Max brokenly.  “Grandma Elsie, how are Gracie and baby?”

“I’m afraid no better, Max,” she said in faltering tones; “the crisis of the disease has not yet come; but in regard to them also we must try to hope for the best.  Indeed, whatever the result, we shall know it is for the best,” she added with tears in her soft, sweet eyes, “because ’He doeth all things well.’”

It was Saturday, and there was no school; but Max had promised Lulu that he would go over to Oakdale after breakfast and carry her the news in regard to the sick children.

She was extremely anxious and distressed about them, and as soon as at liberty to follow her inclination, hastened to a part of the grounds overlooking the road by which he must come.

She had not been there long when she saw him approaching, walking slowly, dejectedly along, with his eyes on the ground.