“What’s the trouble, Jane?”

“Willie!” she said.  “It’s Willie an’ that Joe Bullitt, an’ Johnnie Watson, an’ Mr. Wallace Banks.  They’re with Miss May Parcher.  They’re comin’ right here!”

Mr. Parcher gave forth a low moan, and turned pathetically to his wife, but she cheered him with a laugh.

“They’ve only walked up from the station with May,” she said.  “They won’t come in.  You’ll see!”

Relieved, Mr. Parcher turned again to speak to Jane—­but she was not there.  He caught but a glimpse of her, running up the street as fast as she could, hand in hand with her companion.

“Run, Rannie, run!” panted Jane.  “I got to get home an’ tell mamma about it before Willie.  I bet I ketch Hail Columbia, anyway, when he does get there!”

And in this she was not mistaken:  she caught Hail Columbia.  It lasted all afternoon.

It was still continuing after dinner.  Thatt evening, when an oft-repeated yodel, followed by a shrill-wailed, “Jane-ee!  Oh, Jane-Nee-ee!” brought her to an open window down-stairs.  In the early dusk she looked out upon the washed face of Rannie Kirsted, who stood on the lawn below.

“Come on out, Janie.  Mamma says I can stay outdoors an’ play till half past eight.”

Jane shook her head.  “I can’t.  I can’t go outside the house till to-morrow.  It’s because we walked after Willie with our stummicks out o’ joint.”

“Pshaw!” Rannie cried, lightly.  “My mother didn’t do anything to me for that.”

“Well, nobody told her on you,” said Jane, reasonably.

“Can’t you come out at all?” Rannie urged.  “Go ask your mother.  Tell her—­”

“How can I,” Jane inquired, with a little heat, “when she isn’t here to ask?  She’s gone out to play cards—­she and papa.”

Rannie swung her foot.  “Well,” she said, “I guess I haf to find SOMEp’n to do!  G’ night!”

With head bowed in thought she moved away, disappearing into the gray dusk, while Jane, on her part, left the window and went to the open front door.  Conscientiously, she did not cross the threshold, but restrained herself to looking out.  On the steps of the porch sat William, alone, his back toward the house.

“Willie?” said Jane, softly; and, as he made no response, she lifted her voice a little.  “Will-ee!”

“Whatchwant!” he grunted, not moving.

“Willie, I told mamma I was sorry I made you feel so bad.”

“All right!” he returned, curtly.

“Well, when I haf to go to bed, Willie,” she said, “mamma told me because I made you feel bad I haf to go up-stairs by myself, to-night.”

She paused, seeming to hope that he would say something, but he spake not.

“Willie, I don’t haf to go for a while yet, but when I do—­maybe in about a half an hour—­I wish you’d come stand at the foot of the stairs till I get up there.  The light’s lit up-stairs, but down around here it’s kind of dark.”