get away from what was in the paper, which now lay, neglected, on the table.
"Those that keep out o’ doors all day never do come to no harm," said his wife testily. "But if you felt so bad, whatever was you out so long for, Bunting? I thought you’d gone away somewhere! D’you mean you only went to get the paper?"
"I just stopped for a second to look at it under the lamp," he muttered apologetically.
"That was a silly thing to do!"
"Perhaps it was," he admitted meekly.
Daisy had taken up the paper. "Well, they don’t say much," she said disappointedly. "Hardly anything at all! But perhaps Mr. Chandler ’ll be in soon again. If so, he’ll tell us more about it."
"A young girl like you oughtn’t to want to know anything about murders," said her stepmother severely. "Joe won’t think any the better of you for your inquisitiveness about such things. If I was you, Daisy, I shouldn’t say nothing about it if he does come in—which I fair tell you I hope he won’t. I’ve seen enough of that young chap to-day."
"He didn’t come in for long—not to-day," said Daisy, her lip trembling.
"I can tell you one thing that’ll surprise you, my dear"—Mrs. Bunting looked significantly at her stepdaughter. She also wanted to get away from that dread news—which yet was no news.
"Yes?" said Daisy, rather defiantly. "What is it, Ellen?"
"Maybe you’ll be surprised to hear that Joe did come
