“Hah!” he breathed, sonorously.  He gave himself several resounding slaps upon the chest, then went out to the porch and sat in a rocking-chair near his wife.  He spread himself out expansively.  “My Glory!” he said.  “I believe I’ll take off my coat!  I haven’t had my coat off, outside of my own room, all summer.  I believe I’ll take a vacation!  By George, I believe I’ll stay home this afternoon!”

“That’s nice,” said Mrs. Parcher.

“Hah!” he said.  “My Glory!  I believe I’ll take off my shoes!”

And, meeting no objection, he proceeded to carry out this plan.

“Hah-ah!” he said, and placed his stockinged feet upon the railing, where a number of vines, running upon strings, made a screen between the porch and the street.  He lit a large cigar.  “Well, well!” he said.  “That tastes good!  If this keeps on, I’ll be in as good shape as I was last spring before you know it!” Leaning far back in the rocking-chair, his hands behind his head, he smoked with fervor; but suddenly he jumped in a way which showed that his nerves were far from normal.  His feet came to the floor with a thump, he jerked the cigar out of his mouth, and turned a face of consternation upon his wife.

“What’s the matter?”

“Suppose,” said Mr. Patcher, huskily—­“suppose she missed her train.”

Mrs. Parcher shook her head.

“Think not?” he said, brightening.  “I ordered the livery-stable to have a carriage here in lots of time.”

“They did,” said Mrs. Parcher, severely.  “About five dollars’ worth.”

“Well, I don’t mind that,” he returned, putting his feet up again.  “After all, she was a mighty fine little girl in her way.  The only trouble with me was that crowd of boys;—­having to listen to them certainly liked to killed me, and I believe if she’d stayed just one more day I’d been a goner!  Of all the dam boys I ever—­” He paused, listening.

“Mr. Parcher!” a youthful voice repeated.

He rose, and, separating two of the vines which screened the end of the porch from the street, looked out.  Two small maidens had paused upon the sidewalk, and were peering over the picket fence.

“Mr. Parcher,” said Jane, as soon as his head appeared between the vines—­“Mr. Parcher, Miss Pratt’s gone.  She’s gone away on the cars.”

“You think so?” he asked, gravely.

“We saw her,” said Jane.  “Rannie an’ I were there.  Willie was goin’ to chase us, I guess, but we went in the baggage-room behind trunks, an’ we saw her go.  She got on the cars, an’ it went with her in it.  Honest, she’s gone away, Mr. Parcher.”

Before speaking, Mr. Parcher took a long look at this telepathic child.  In his fond eyes she was a marvel and a darling.

“Well—­thank you, Jane!” he said.

Jane, however, had turned her head and was staring at the corner, which was out of his sight.

“Oo-oo-ooh!” she murmured.