"Where have I been?" Paul was instantly on the defensive. "Why-what's the matter? What's everything locked up for?"

"Sh! Everyone's asleep but me. Oh, I thought you were _dead_!"

"Good Heaven's-_why_? It isn't late."

"It's nearly twelve. Everyone's been in bed for ages. We couldn't imagine what had become of you-"

"Well, I must say I don't see why there's so much fuss. I just walked over to Goldsboro to see what was going on, and fooled around there for a while. It was later than I thought when I went out, and when I found out I'd miss supper, I thought I might as well take a good walk, and get something to eat over there."

"Oh,-well we couldn't imagine-you'd better walk softly, Paul."

For some reason, Paul suddenly chose to think that Jane was reproving him.

"I don't see why I can't be a little late without everyone's getting so worked up over it. Do you mean to say that I mustn't leave the house without telling everyone exactly what time I'll be back?" he grumbled.

"Gee whiz! Life isn't worth living if you have to be worrying every minute-"

"_Sh-sh_, Paul! You'll wake everybody up," whispered Jane. He subsided a little, but was still muttering indignantly when he parted from her and tiptoed cautiously up to his room.

The next morning at breakfast, Mr. Lambert asked him casually what had delayed him, and appeared quite satisfied at his off-hand answer.

"And how did you get in? Everything is always locked at ten, as you know."

"I heard him whistling, Daddy, and I let him in," spoke up Jane. Mr.

Lambert merely said,

"Ah! Well, don't let it happen again my boy. It made me very uneasy."

No further reference was made to the matter.

"There was no harm in it," thought Paul. "They have the impression that Jeff is a black sheep, and it would be a silly thing to go out of my way to tell 'em that I saw him again. Uncle would have a fit, and it's such a little thing to deliberately get up a row about."

And so being satisfied that his mild escapade would have no uncomfortable results he thought no more about it.

CHAPTER XIII-DISASTER

Poor Janey was feeling very blue indeed. During the last week it seemed to her that Paul had somehow grown so different-rather inclined to be cross and uncommunicative, and even to avoid her company. That very afternoon he had told her please not to bother him while he was painting, or he never would get his picture done, and twice when she had offered to take a walk with him, he had refused her company with no very gracious excuse.

Thus ignored and rebuffed, she had sadly devoted herself to deeds of charity, and on that sultry afternoon sat with Carl reading aloud to him from a fat dull book about the ancient Britons. They were sitting in the little garden, where the shadow of the house offered some protection from the sun; Carl reposing like a Sultan in his easy chair, gazing up at the motionless weathervane on the gable of the attic, and occasionally begging Jane "_not_ to mumble her words." The attic was on the third floor just above Granny's room, in a part of the house that formed an ell, bounding the garden on the south side with its ivy-covered wall.

"I say, Jane, do you suppose that Paul is _smoking_?" said Carl suddenly, interrupting the monotonous flow of Jane's reading.

"What?"

"Well, that's smoke, isn't it? coming out of the attic window-and cigar smoke, too, or I'll eat my hat!"

Jane looked up. It was an undeniable fact that a blue spiral issued from the attic, and, caught by the faint breeze, was wafted gracefully upwards, and dissolved. A very faint scent drifted down to the garden, and that scent-if such it could be called-was of tobacco. Paul, happily ignorant of the dismayed interest he had roused in the garden below, was sampling a cigar that Jeff had lavishly bestowed on him.

"Well, all I've got to say is that if he knows what is good for him, he'll cut _that_ out," observed Carl drily.

"I guess-I guess he's just doing it for fun," said Jane.

"He won't think it fun if father catches him. But it's none of _my_ business, I suppose. Go on."

Jane went on reading, furtively glancing aloft every now and then to see if the tell-tale puffs of smoke were still issuing from the open window.

To her intense relief they had stopped after a few minutes, and presently she heard Paul talking to her mother in the kitchen.

"Do you really like this book?" she asked at last, looking at her brother pathetically.

"Very much. But you needn't read any more if you're tired. Here's Elise, now, anyway."

Elise had just entered by the garden gate.

"Carl! Jane! What do you think! The most exciting thing-"

"Lily Deacon is engaged to Mr. Sheridan," said Jane promptly. Elise stared at her, her round blue eyes wide with amazement.

"How did you know?"

"I put two and two together. Aren't I clever?"

"No, how _did_ you guess, Janey? Lily hasn't told anyone but me."

"Well, I knew it _was_ going to happen, and I knew that you'd been up to see Lily this afternoon, and I guessed the rest. Isn't it _nice_, though!" cried Jane, clapping her hands. "And you know _I'm_ really responsible for it."

"_You_!" hooted Carl derisively.

"Yes, me. When did it happen, Elise, and when are they going to be married? I do so love a wedding, and there hasn't been one here for ages. Do you suppose she'll wear a veil?"

Elise, who under her placid exterior had the most romantic of souls, sat down to recount all the details that she had gleaned from her best friend.

"And she's going to live in that lovely house, and she'll travel, and she-goodness, do you suppose Paul has burned up _another_ batch of cakes?" she broke off short in her rhapsody over Lily's prospects to sniff the air.

"Don't you smell smoke? I do hope he hasn't had another disaster-he's been getting along so well. Well, anyway-where was I?"

"You said she was going to travel. What _I_ want to know is when the wedding is going to be," said Jane.

"Oh, that isn't decided yet-in the spring, I think. You know, that doesn't smell like cake burning. It smells like rags. I suppose somebody's burning trash."

Carl laughed and looked at Jane; but the burning smell did not resemble tobacco at all, and besides, Paul was still in the kitchen with Aunt Gertrude.

"Go on and tell some more, Elise," said Jane.

"I've told you all I know. I must get you your milk, Carl."