"I hope not, father," said Sarah Dunham, pausing in her knitting.
"So do I, Sarah, but you must agree that it's strange he don't write."
"That's true, Adin. He was always a thoughtful, considerate boy. The house seems lonesome without him."
"So it does, Sarah. But if I only knew he was doin' well I wouldn't mind that. He may have got sick and——"
"Don't say such things, father," said Mrs. Dunham in a tremulous voice. "I can't bear to think anything's happened to the boy."
"But we must be prepared for the worst, if so be the worst has come."
"I am sure he is alive and well," said Sarah Dunham, who was of a more hopeful temperament than her husband.
"Then why don't he write?"
"To be sure, Adin. That's something I can't explain. But Dean's healthy, and he's a good boy, who wouldn't be likely to get into mischief. Instead of being prepared for the worst, suppose we hope for the best."
"Maybe you're right, Sarah. I try to be cheerful, but since I was robbed of that thousand dollars luck seems to have been against me. And the worst of it is Sarah, I'm not getting younger. I shall be sixty-five next month."