At so vital a moment did Mrs. Baxter knock at his door and consoling reverie cease to minister unto William.  Out of the rosy sky he dropped, falling miles in an instant, landing with a bump.  He started, placed the sacred box out of sight, and spoke gruffly.

“What you want?”

“I’m not coming in, Willie,” said his mother.  “I just wanted to know—­I thought maybe you were looking out of the window and noticed where those children went.”

“What children?”

“Jane and that little girl from across the street—­Kirsted, her name must be.”

“No.  I did not.”

“I just wondered,” Mrs. Baxter said, timidly.  “Genesis thinks he heard the little Kirsted girl telling Jane she had plenty of money for carfare.  He thinks they went somewhere on a street-car.  I thought maybe you noticed wheth—­”

“I told you I did not.”

“All right,” she said, placatively.  “I didn’t mean to bother you, dear.”

Following this there was a silence; but no sound of receding footsteps indicated Mrs. Baxter’s departure from the other side of the closed door.

“Well, what you want?” William shouted.

“Nothing—­nothing at all,” said the compassionate voice.  “I just thought I’d have lunch a little later than usual; not till half past one.  That is if—­well, I thought probably you meant to go to the station to see Miss Pratt off on the one-o’clock train.”

Even so friendly an interest as this must have appeared to the quivering William an intrusion in his affairs, for he demanded, sharply: 

“How’d you find out she’s going at one o’clock?”

“Why—­why, Jane mentioned it,” Mrs. Baxter replied, with obvious timidity.  “Jane said—­”

She was interrupted by the loud, desperate sound of William’s fist smiting his writing-table, so sensitive was his condition.  “This is just unbearable!” he cried.  “Nobody’s business is safe from that child!”

“Why, Willie, I don’t see how it matters if—­”

He uttered a cry.  “No!  Nothing matters!  Nothing matters at all!  Do you s’pose I want that child, with her insults, discussing when Miss Pratt is or is not going away?  Don’t you know there are some things that have no business to be talked about by every Tom, Dick, and Harry?”

“Yes, dear,” she said.  “I understand, of course.  Jane only told me she met Mr. Parcher on the street, and he mentioned that Miss Pratt was going at one o’clock to-day.  That’s all I—­”

“You say you understand,” he wailed, shaking his head drearily at the closed door, “and yet, even on such a day as this, you keep talking!  Can’t you see sometimes there’s times when a person can’t stand to—­”

“Yes, Willie,” Mrs. Baxter interposed, hurriedly.  “Of course!  I’m going now.  I have to go hunt up those children, anyway.  You try to be back for lunch at half past one—­and don’t worry, dear; you really will be all right!”