Mr. Grantly was an indulgent old gentleman, fond of children: so he said, "Jump in;" and in a minute Taddy had scrambled to a seat by his side.

   And now occurred a circumstance which Ducklow had foreseen. The alarm of fire had reached Reuben's; and, although the report of its falseness followed immediately, Mrs. Ducklow's inflammable fancy was so kindled by it that she could find no comfort in prolonging her visit.

   "Mr. Ducklow'll be going for the trunk, and I

    must

   go home and see to things, Taddy's

    such

   a fellow for mischief. I can foot it; I shan't mind it."

   And off she started, walking herself out of breath in anxiety.

   She reached the brow of the hill just in time to see a chaise drive away from her own door.

   "Who

    can

   that be? I wonder if Taddy's ther' to guard the house! If anything should happen to them bonds!"

   Out of breath as she was, she quickened her pace, and trudged on, flushed, perspiring, panting, until she reached the house.

   "Thaddeus!" she called.

   No Taddy answered. She went in. The house was deserted. And, lo! the carpet torn up, and the bonds abstracted!

   Mr. Ducklow never would have made such work, removing the bonds. Then somebody else must have taken them, she reasoned.

   "The man in the chaise!" she exclaimed, or rather made an effort to exclaim, succeeding only in bringing forth a hoarse, gasping sound. Fear dried up articulation.

    Vox faucibus hæsit.

   And Taddy? He had disappeared, been murdered, perhaps,—or gagged and carried 

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