“Do we look like persons carrying weapons?” Tish demanded haughtily.  And of course we did not.  Still, there was an untruth of the spirit and none of us felt any too comfortable.  Indeed, what followed may have been a punishment on us for deceit and conspiracy.

Aggie had taken her cat along—­because it was so fond of fish, she said.  And, between Tish buying ice for the worms and Aggie getting milk for the cat, the journey was not monotonous; but on returning from one of her excursions to the baggage-car, Tish put a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“That boy’s on the train, Lizzie!” she said.  “He had the impudence to ask me whether I still drive with the license plates under a cushion.  English roses—­importations!” said Tish, and sniffed.  “You don’t suppose he went into that tent shop and asked about us?”

“He might,” I retorted; “but, on the other hand, there’s no reason why our going to Canada should keep the rest of the United States at home!”

However, the thing did seem queer, somehow.  Why had he told us things that were not so?  Why had he been so anxious to know who we were?  Why, had he asked us to take the Sunday-school picnic to a place that did not belong to him?

“He may be going away to forget some trouble.  You remember what he said about happier days,” said Tish.

“That was Updike’s reason too,” I relied.  “Poignant grief!”

For just a moment our eyes met.  The same suspicion had occurred to us both.  Well, we agreed to say nothing to Aggie or Hutchins, for fear of upsetting them, and the next hour or so was peaceful.

Hutchins read and Aggie slept.  Tish and I strung beads for the Indians, and watched the door into the next car.  And, sure enough, about the middle of the afternoon he appeared and stared in at us.  He watched us for quite a time, smoking a cigarette as he did so.  Then he came in and bent down over Tish.

“You didn’t take the children out for the picnic, did you?” he said.

“I did not!” Tish snapped.

“I’m sorry.  Never saw the place look so well!”

“Look here,” Tish said, putting down her beads; “what were you doing there that night anyhow?  You don’t belong to the family.”

He looked surprised and then grieved.

“You’ve discovered that, have you?” he said.  “I did, you know—­word of honor!  They’ve turned me off; but I love the old place still, and on summer nights I wander about it, recalling happier days.”

Hutchins closed her book with a snap, and he sighed.

“I perceive that we are overheard,” he said.  “Some time I hope to tell you the whole story.  It’s extremely sad.  I’ll not spoil the beginning of your holiday with it.”

All the time he had been talking he held a piece of paper in his hand.  When he left us Tish went back thoughtfully to her beads.

“It just shows, Lizzie,” she said, “how wrong we are to trust to appearances.  That poor boy—­”