er to see our poverty?" asked Mrs. Carlyle in her
patient, gentle voice, and Audrey coloured at finding her thoughts thus
read.

"Darling, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Granny knows what our means
are, and she must realise what heavy expenses we have to meet, so she
should not expect us to be anything but shabby. She would understand that
with five children things need replacing more often, and that there is
less to replace them with."

"Oh, I know, mother, I know. But granny had only one little boy, and a
very well behaved one, and I think she couldn't realise how five of us
knock the things about."

"But don't you think she would be so glad to see her one little boy, that
she would overlook that?"

Audrey still looked doubtful.

"Think of it in this way, dear. Suppose we missed this opportunity, and
suppose dear granny died before we invited her here. Do you think we
should ever cease to feel remorseful? And don't you think she would
rather be asked to come, and made to feel that we wanted her, than remain
unasked because our home is shabby? Try by all means in one's power to
have things as neat and nice and comfortable as possible, but don't let us
put outward show before kind feeling."

Audrey listened eagerly. She had learnt one great lesson--not to trust
entirely to her own opinion and she was very, very anxious to learn what
was right, and to do it.

Mrs. Carlyle looked at her smiling. "Don't you think it is often a help
to ask oneself, 'what would I like others to do to me? What would I
myself prefer?'" But Audrey coloured painfully, as the thought of her own
return home came back to her. How entirely she had lost sight of the love
and the welcome in her care about external appearances. She was silent so
long that her mother looked at her anxiously more than once.

"I think you are very tired, aren't you, dear?"

"Oh no, mother."

"Perhaps you need a holiday. Would you like to go back with granny to
Farbridge for a week or two?"

"Oh no, mother, no I don't want any holiday. I don't want anything to do
but stay here. Oh, mother." Her secret hovered on the tip of her tongue,
her longing to confide in her mother almost overcame all her other
feelings, but she checked herself. "Oh mother," she added lamely,
"I want to do so much but--but----"

A voice came calling up the stairs, "Audrey, Audrey, are you coming to
give me my dinner, or am I to dine alone?" Mr. Carlyle put his he