ington and whether he is here now. Do you know?"
Now that the shopkeeper's mind was fairly detached from his printed page he seemed to be more interested in his caller, and though he did not offer to get Betty a chair, he looked about him vaguely as though he might be seeking a place for her to sit.
"I don't mind standing. I mustn't stay long," she said hurriedly, afraid to let him fix his attention on outside objects. "Didn't Bob Henderson say where he was going? Did he mention anything about leaving Washington?"
"Well, now let me see," considered the old man. "Bob Henderson? Oh, yes, I recollect now how he looked—a manly lad with a frank face. Yes, yes, his mother was Faith Henderson, born a Saunders. That's what caught my eye on the almshouse record book. Years ago I traced the Saunders line for a fine young lady who was marrying here in Washington. She wanted a coat of arms, and she was entitled to one, too. But there was a break in the line, one branch ending suddenly with the birth of Faith Saunders, daughter of Robert and Grace. I never forget a name, so when I read the almshouse record and saw the name of this lad's mother there I knew I had my chart complete. Yes, the boy was interested in what I could tell him."
