Part 28 (2/2)

”Well, that's pretty hard luck,” remarked Carl. ”I daresay he's more broken up than he lets on.”

Jane had begun to cry, hiding her face in Granny's lap. Not even Paul could have been as cruelly disappointed as she.

”Oh, he _would_ have won something! I'm sure he would have!” she wept, disconsolately. ”He said he didn't think so, but he _did_, and I know he did.”

”Well, one way or the other, it's his affair,” said Carl, ”and I certainly don't see why _you_ should be in such a stew over it.”

”It is my affair, too,” wailed Jane, and at this characteristic remark no one could help smiling.

”Come, Janey, darling, there's no use in taking it so to heart,” said Mrs. Lambert, laying her hand softly on the curly head. ”We are all dreadfully distressed about Paul, but he has taken his misfortune bravely, and after all he will have many more chances. Elise, isn't that the bell in the bakeshop? Dear me, what can people think coming in to all that smoke. I wonder if it's clearing out at all. Come now, Janey, cheer up.”

Janey lifted her face from Granny's knees, and wiped her wet cheeks with the palms of her hands, leaving long smudges.

”There now. We must all be thankful that there was no worse harm done,”

said her mother, kissing her. ”Come along, Elise. You come with me too, Janey. We mustn't keep anyone waiting.”

But Paul was already in the bakeshop, and was calmly counting out change to the customer when his aunt came in. He was rather pale, but apparently quite cheerful.

”I looked around in the attic again, Aunt Gertrude. It's all right up there,” he said calmly, when the customer had gone. ”The floor is charred a bit where the rags were-but that's all the damage. And the smoke's clearing out. It didn't get into the rooms much, because all the doors were closed.”

”We're all so distressed about your picture, my dear,” said Aunt Gertrude, laying her hands on his arm. ”I know what disappointment you must feel-and you are a very plucky boy.”

Paul looked down at her, started to say something, and then abruptly left the shop.

”But how in the world could it have started?” wondered Aunt Gertrude, for the first time. ”He surely couldn't have had the oil-stove lighted in this weather, and it couldn't have started by itself.”

But Elise had no theory to offer, and Jane was in tears again, so Aunt Gertrude carried her mystification out to the kitchen, to see whether Anna had returned with the groceries.

At six o'clock, Mr. Lambert returned to the bosom of a highly excited family, and, at the supper table, listened with a peculiarly austere expression to the incoherent accounts of the disaster. Presently, he held up his hand.

”Come, come! I cannot find the beginning or end of all this,” he said, and then bending his gaze on Paul, added, slowly and sternly, ”there was a fire to-day in the attic-where you, Paul, have been-er-working. So much I understand. But what I do _not_ understand is-how this fire started.”

There was a silence. Jane glanced at Carl, and Carl took a drink of water.

”We hear of such things as spontaneous combustion,” pursued Mr. Lambert, ”but for anything of the sort to take place, there must be certain conditions. I do not imagine that such conditions could exist-in a pile of rags-under an open window. No,” said Mr. Lambert, shaking his head, ”I must discard that theory.”

Again the unpleasant silence followed these remarks. Paul, who had eaten nothing, drummed nervously on the table.

”You were there, were you not? a short time before the fire started?”

inquired Mr. Lambert. ”Did you notice any-er-odor of burning?”

”Why, Paul was with me in the kitchen for quite a little while before any of us noticed anything, Peter,” Aunt Gertrude broke in innocently.

”Well,” said Mr. Lambert, shaking his head, but still keeping his eyes fixed immovably on his nephew's face, ”it is quite beyond my comprehension. How anything of the sort-”

At this point Paul suddenly interrupted.

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