Carroll laughed. “Have either of you eaten anything?” he asked.
“Of course not,” replied his sister, indignantly.
“How could we, dear?” said his wife. “I had thought I was quite hungry, and when the butcher sent the roast, after all—”
“Perhaps I had better wait and not pay him until he does not send anything,” murmured Anna Carroll, as if to herself. “And when the roast did come, I was glad, but, after all, I could not touch it.”
“Well, you must both eat to-night to make up for it,” said Carroll.
“I had thought you would as soon have it cold for dinner to-night,” said Mrs. Carroll, in her soft, complaining voice. “We would not have planned it for our noon lunch, but we were afraid to ask the butcher for chops, too, and as long as there were no eggs for breakfast, we felt the need of something substantial; but, of course, when that darling boy did not come, and we had reason to think he was shot, we could not—” Mrs. Carroll leaned weepingly against her husband, but he put her from him gently.
“Now, Amy, dearest,” said he, “I am going to find Eddy and bring him home, and—you say Marie has gone to hunt for him?”
“Yes, she went in one direction, and Ina and Charlotte in others,” said Anna Carroll.
“Well,” said Carroll, “I will send Marie home at once, and I wish you would see that she prepares an early dinner, and then we can go for a drive afterwards.”
“Eddy can go, too,” said Mrs. Carroll, quite joyously.