From Penhurst to Arden, where Andy's parents lived, was fifty miles. Starting at three o'clock, the train reached Arden station at five.
As Andy stepped on the platform he saw Roland Hunter, the son of a neighbor.
"How are you, Andy?" said Roland, with a cheerful greeting. "How do you happen to be coming home? Is it vacation?"
"No; I was summoned home by a telegram. Is—are they all well at home?"
"Yes, so far as I know."
Andy breathed a sigh of relief.
"I am glad of that," he said. "I was afraid some one in the family might be sick."
"I don't think so. I would have heard, living so near."
"Father is well, then?"
"Come to think of it, I heard he had a bad headache."