“An’ they was a picture of the ocean,” Jennie continued, oblivious of the sarcasm, “an’ the feller that was with me tole me that was Pharaoh an’ his chariots an’ the children of Israel crossing the Red Sea. I said, ‘Where’s the children of Israel, I don’t see any,’ an’ he said, ‘Oh, they’ve gone over’; an’ I said, ‘Well, then, where’s Pharaoh and his chariots?’ an’ he said, ‘Oh, they’ve gone under.’ I s’pose that was the way of it since he said so, but it didn’t seem just right somehow.”
Just then Jennie was interrupted by a call from the dining room and scurried away, saving the housekeeper the necessity of listening to any further details for the moment.
Don finished his dinner and then went out and sat down in a chair on the porch. It was a beautiful summer evening, and in the great old trees about the house the birds were singing their vesper songs.
Ordinarily the charm of the hour would have appealed to Don, but now the outer peace only helped to emphasize by contrast the ferment of anxiety in his mind. Where was his father? Where was his mother? Were they still alive? What fate was keeping him without tidings of his parents, dearer to him than life?
A boy on a motorcycle came at a rapid gait up the road. Don looked at him listlessly as he neared, but with quickened interest when he stopped at the gate.
The messenger opened the gate and wheeled his machine up the path.
“Cap’n Sturdy in?” asked the boy.
“Yes,” replied Don. “Want to see him?”
“Got a cablegram for him,” was the answer.
“Uncle Frank!” called Don. “Will you step here a minute? Something for you.”