Laughing at something that evidently amused him very much the stranger started his engine.
As for Carl, he raced home as fast as ever his feet would go. Already he was late for supper, a fact always annoying to his mother, who considered tardiness one of the most flagrant of sins. To be sure he was not often late, for miss what other functions he might he seldom missed his meals. To-night, however, the table had been cleared, the dishes washed, and only a saucepan of corn-meal mush, steaming on the back of the stove, remained as a souvenir of the feast.
"For goodness' sake, Carl, wherever have you been?" asked Mrs. McGregor, as he entered, panting from his run up the long flights of stairs. "I've been worried to death about you. Go wash your hands and come and eat your supper right away. You know I don't like you out after dark."
"I know it, Ma," the boy responded penitently. "I'm mighty sorry. I'd no idea, though, that it was so late."
"Where've you been?"
"To walk."
"To walk? Just to walk? Mercy on us! Not just walking round for nothing!"
"I'm afraid so, yes."
"Who was with you?"
"Nobody."