The incomprehensible look disappeared before long; but the regretful one was renewed in the mother’s eyes whenever she caught glimpses of her son, that day, and at the table, where William’s manner was gentle—­even toward his heartless father.

Underneath that gentleness, the harried self of William was no longer debating a desperate resolve, but had fixed upon it, and on the following afternoon Jane chanced to be a witness of some resultant actions.  She came to her mother with an account of them.

“Mamma, what you s’pose Willie wants of those two ole market-baskets that were down cellar?”

“Why, Jane?”

“Well, he carried ’em in his room, an’ then he saw me lookin’; an’ he said, ‘G’way from here!’ an’ shut the door.  He looks so funny!  What’s he want of those ole baskets, mamma?”

“I don’t know.  Perhaps he doesn’t even know, himself, Jane.”

But William did know, definitely.  He had set the baskets upon chairs, and now, with pale determination, he was proceeding to fill them.  When his task was completed the two baskets contained: 

One “heavy-weight winter suit of clothes.”

One “light-weight summer suit of clothes.”

One cap.

One straw hat.

Two pairs of white flannel trousers.

Two Madras shirts.

Two flannel shirts.

Two silk shirts.

Seven soft collars.

Three silk neckties.

One crocheted tie.

Eight pairs of socks.

One pair of patent-leather shoes.

One pair of tennis-shoes.

One overcoat.

Some underwear.

One two-foot shelf of books, consisting of several sterling works upon mathematics, in a damaged condition; five of Shakespeare’s plays, expurgated for schools and colleges, and also damaged; a work upon political economy, and another upon the science of physics; Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary; How to Enter a Drawing-Room and Five Hundred Other Hints; Witty Sayings from Here and There; Lorna Doone; Quentin Durward; The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, a very old copy of Moths, and a small Bible.

William spread handkerchiefs upon the two over-bulging cargoes, that their nature might not be disclosed to the curious, and, after listening a moment at his door, took the baskets, one upon each arm, then went quickly down the stairs and out of the house, out of the yard, and into the alley—­by which route he had modestly chosen to travel.

...  After an absence of about two hours he returned empty-handed and anxious.  “Mother, I want to speak to you,” he said, addressing Mrs Baxter in a voice which clearly proved the strain of these racking days.  “I want to speak to you about something important.”

“Yes, Willie?”

“Please send Jane away.  I can’t talk about important things with a child in the room.”

Jane naturally wished to stay, since he was going to say something important.  “Mamma, do I haf to go?”