But I’ve got to leave by three o’clock. Joyce ain’t going to be gone all day, is she?”

“Oh, I think not,” said Nannette nonchalantly. What if Joyce should stay all day! How dreadful!

“Well, you ask her to call me just as soon as she gets in. I want to relieve my mind of that class.”

“I’ll tell her,” said Nannette ungraciously, “but she’s got a lot to do at home. I doubt if she can manage it.”

“Oh, but she promised me six weeks ago she would if I had to go.”

“Well, I’ll tell her.” And Nannette hung up snappily. She didn’t exactly relish everybody in town expecting that Joyce would go right on doing what she always had done, as if her circumstances in life were just as they had been. It was time people began to understand that Joyce was a dependent, and as such was not at the beck and call of every old woman and Sunday school class. She was tired and angry from loss of sleep last night, and it was high time Joyce came home and did her work. Of course she must be out there in the barn asleep somewhere. Probably she was waiting for somebody to come out and coax her in. Well, she would go out and find her. There was the harness closet and there was the hayloft. Probably Eugene didn’t look very far. She would find her and teach her duty once and for all, and there wouldn’t be any question about it either.

Nannette marched out of the kitchen door with the air of a conquering hero and sailed into the garage, the very crackle of her step on the gravel foretelling what was in store for any luckless miscreant who might be found lurking in the hay.

But though she searched vigilantly and thoroughly, there was no sign anywhere of Joyce. Out behind the barn a fluttering paper caught her eye, and stopping to pick it up, she found it was an examination paper with answers scribbled after each question in Joyce’s fine script. Angrily she tore it in half and in half again and scattered it on the ground, scanned the meadow for an instant and the distant road, and then went back into the house just in time to hear the telephone ringing again.

It was a man’s voice this time, a strange, dignified, young voice, a voice that spoke as from authority. “I would like to speak with Miss Joyce Radway.”

The sense of panic returned to Nannette, but she summoned her voice to demand sharply, “Who is this?” At least she would not make Eugene’s mistake and let anyone get away without complete identification.

“This is J. S. Harrington, acting superintendent of the high school. I wish to speak to Miss Radway with regard to her examination paper. Is she there?”

“She is not,” said Nannette with asperity.

“Perhaps you know if she is already on her way to school?” Nannette wished she did.

“She’ll not be able—” she began and then reflected that perhaps Joyce was on her way to school. No telling where she had spent the night with this in view. At least she must not give away the present situation to the whole village. Especially not to this interesting stranger. He must be the man they were talking about at the station last night, young and good-looking. What could he want with Joyce?

“I’m not sure whether she is going over to the school today or not,” she equivocated. “Is there any message?”

“Just ask her to step into my office if she is coming to school. If not, I shall be glad to have her call me as soon as she comes in. Thank you. Good morning.”

The click of the telephone was almost immediately followed by a knock on the kitchen door, where stood a small boy with a basket of luscious strawberries covered over with dewy leaves.