Butthatletterdidnotcome。Theweekpassed，thenanother，buttherewasnowordfromCrawford。Mary’sanxietygrew。EachdayasIsaiahbroughtthemailsheexpectedhimtogiveheranenvelopeaddressedinthefamiliarhandwriting，buthedidnot。Shewasgrowingnervous——almostfearful。Andthencameahappeningtheshockofwhichdroveeverythingelsefromhermindforthetimeandsubstitutedforthatfearanother。
ItwasaTuesdayandoneo’clock。MaryandCaptainShadrach，havinghadanearlydinner，hadreturnedtothestore。Zoeth，upontheirarrival，wentdowntothehouseforhisownmeal。Business，whichhadbeenverygoodindeed，wasratherslackjustthenandShadrachandMaryweretalkingtogether。Suddenlytheyheardthesoundofrapidfootstepsinthelaneoutside。
“Who’shoofin’ituptothemainroadatthatrate？“demandedtheCaptain，lounginglazilytowardthewindow。“Hasthetownpumpgotonfireorissomebodygoin’forthedoctor？“
Heleanedforwardtolook。Hislazinessvanished。
“Eh！Jumpin’Judas！“hecried，springingtothedoor。“It’sIsaiah，andrunnin’asiftheOldBoywasafterhim！Here！You！