The Prodigal Girl by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

not look at his mother. He sat down and began to eat from the plate Hannah gave him. He asked for coffee, but he did not look at anybody. His eyes were down upon his plate as if he was ashamed, or afraid, his mother could not tell which. Her heart began to quake with new fears.

Chapter 8
    W here is Betty?” asked Chester Thornton, looking with troubled gaze around the table.
    “She got off to school before I woke up,” said Eleanor apologetically, “and I haven’t had time to send word for her to come home.”
    “But she ought to be here by this time,” said her father, looking at his watch.
    “She ain’t comin’ home,” volunteered John. “I saw her go into the cafeteria with some kids fer lunch. She told me to tell Mamma she wouldn’t be here.”
    “I had better telephone for her,” said Eleanor, rising anxiously.
    “No!” said Chester sharply. “Just get her things ready, and we’ll stop for her on the way. We haven’t time to wait for her to come home.”
    Eleanor sank back into her chair once more, finished the coffee, and took one more bite of her bread and butter, but she felt as if she could hardly swallow anything.
    “The truck will be here soon,” said Chester. “There’ll be room for a trunk or two and all the blankets and pillows you need to take. How soon will you be ready?”
    “Oh!” said Eleanor feebly. “Why, yes. Very soon.” “Chris and I have an errand to do,” announced Chester. “It may take us fifteen or twenty minutes, and when we get back I’ll be ready to start whenever you are. I noticed you had my things pretty well packed.”
    Eleanor marveled at the restrained voice of her husband. He seemed deathly white, and she feared for him. She wondered what the errand was that was important enough to take him away even for fifteen minutes. She looked keenly at Chris, but he went on eating with his eyes downcast. Her heart seemed heavy like lead. She swallowed the scalding coffee and rose without attempting to eat anything more.
    “I’ll go up and put the last things in,” she said. “Jane, you had better come with me.”
    Jane looked at her father.
    “Daddy?” she said with a quiver in her voice. “Daddy, do I have to go?” Her question ended in a wail.
    “Yes!” said Chester, looking at the little girl with a reminder of last evening in his eyes, until she quailed.
    “But—Daddy”—her lips were quivering with the pretty, pitiful plea that had always won her what she wanted—“Daddy, I can’t leave my teacher in a h–o–o–ole!”
    “I will explain to your teacher,” said Chester Thornton. “Jane, your mother needs you upstairs.”
    Jane arose slowly, reluctantly, sobbing into her handkerchief despairingly, but her father and Chris went out without noticing her. Chris walked as though he was about to face an ordeal.
    When they had gone out the front door Jane returned to the dining room to retrieve the last tart from the twins and went slowly upstairs, emitting crumbly sobs occasionally.
    “Jane, sit on this suitcase while I fasten it,” called Eleanor, and Jane, discovering her old last year’s sweater and cap, grew suddenly interested. She looked around and discovered the other suitcases and the big trunk. Somehow the affair took on new meaning. There might be something interesting in it all, even if one didn’t get to act in the play. There would be other plays, and they would likely be coming back someday. It was rather fun after all to be taken out of school and go off on a mysterious trip.
    Chester and Chris did not come back in fifteen minutes. Eleanor watched the clock anxiously, not because she cared how late they started but for fear of what might be unearthed of Chris’s misdoings.
    Then Michael, the driver, arrived with the truck, and she had her hands full getting the right things loaded in. Of course having the truck come made things a thousand times easier. She could just wrap a lot of things in an old quilt and have it piled into