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 any gasp, gurgle or octave leaps of Mark's possible answer. "He flunked in geometry, Dear M-M-Mother. And he said he didn't dare come home a-a—and f-f-face the music."

"Do you mean to tell me that my son John has Tun away from home? Ruth? James? Sarah?"

"Dear Mother," said Ruth, "that is what we are afraid of."

"Children," said Mrs. Eaton, and anger was getting the better of her, "I call Heaven to witness that I have done nothing to deserve this . . . Your father! What will your father say? James, Tun to the church as fast as your legs will carry you. But don't breathe a word of what has happened. Tell your father that I must speak with him at once. Tell him that it is upon a matter which will not brook delay . . . What are you staring at, Edward? Don't sit shake like a ninny with your mouth wide open."

Edward recalls that he was able to close his mouth, and that if he had known just how a ninny sits he would have tried to stop sitting like one. He knew that something terrible had happened to his brother John and that his Dear Mother was going to do something about it.

The Reverend Mr. Eaton was slender and clearly featured. He had an intellectual head and