“Perhaps, Peter, you had better put the latch-key under the doormat,” suggested Aunt Gertrude, but Mr. Lambert would not agree to this.
“No, my dear. He knows quite well that everything is locked at ten o’clock. If he prefers to be roaming around the country at that time, he must be prepared to take the consequences. I hope you do not expect me to alter all the rules of the household for the boy.”
So at ten o’clock, Paul not yet having made his appearance, the front door was locked, and the family went to bed.
But Jane was not able to take his absence so calmly. Suppose he had got lost? Suppose he had hurt himself? He might even have been kidnapped. These fears made it impossible for her to sleep, and so she sat down at her window, determined to wait up for him all night if necessary. With the house locked, how could he get in—where could he go?
The time that she waited seemed endless. The tones of the church clock, striking eleven, boomed solemnly through the stillness that lay over the town. All the houses were darkened; the street was quiet. Now and then, solitary footsteps rang out on the bricks, and Jane sat up eagerly only to hear them die away in a neighboring block.
Where could he be? She was almost in tears when after an eternity of waiting she heard the sound of whistling far up the street.
“That must be Paul. It must be!” She leaned far out of the window, trying to get a glimpse of the wanderer, who was in fact coming nearer to the house. At last he came into the light of the street lamp, and she recognized him with a great sigh of relief. In another moment she had flown noiselessly down the stairs, and unbolted the door with as little squeaking and rattling as possible.
“Hello,” said Paul as calmly as if he had just run up to the corner to mail a letter.
“Oh, where have you been?”
“Where have I been?” Paul was instantly on the defensive. “Why—what’s the matter? What’s everything locked up for?”