y were opening the door. She rattled the letter-box
again and called out to May. It was like coming home after summer
holidays by the blue sparkling sea, coming home to dolls and toys and
the long, thin garden at the back which from absence had acquired an
exaggerated reputation for entertainment.

Suddenly May opened the door, peeping round over the latch, much scared
apparently.

"How quick you've been," she said.

"Quick?" repeated Jenny.

"Didn't you get my telegram?"

"No," said Jenny, and perceiving that May's eyes were red with weeping,
her delightful anticipation was clouded with dread. "What did you want
to telegraph for? Not--not about mother?"

May nodded.

"She isn't dead?" Jenny gasped.

"No, she isn't dead. But she's had to be took away. You know. To an
asylum."

"Go on," said Jenny. "Oh, what a dreadful thing."

"Well, don't stand there," May commanded. "There's been crowd enough
round here this morning as it is."

In the kitchen she unfolded the story. It seemed that for the last
fortnight their mother had been queer.

"Oh, she was funny," said May. "She used to sit moping over the
fire--never doing nothing and saying all the time how her head hurt."

"Didn't dad fetch in a doctor?" Jenny demanded.

"Not at first he wouldn't. You know what dad's like. I said she was
really ill and he kept on saying: 'Nonsense, why look at me. I'm as ill
as I can be, but I don't want no doctor. I've got a sort of a paralytic
stroke running up and down my arm fit to drive anybody barmy. And here
am I going off to work so cheerful, the chaps down at the shop say they
don't know how I does it.'"

"He ought to be bumped," Jenny asserted wrathfully. "I only wish I'd
been at home to tell him off. Go on about mother. And why wasn't I sent
for directly?" she asked.

"Well, I did think about fetching you back. But I didn't really think
myself it was anything much at first. She got worse all of a sudden
like. She took a most shocking dislike to me and said I was keeping her
indoors against her will, and then she carried on about you, said you
was--well, I don't know what she didn't say. And when the doctor come,
she said he was a detective and asked him to lock you and me both up,
said she had the most wicked daughters. I was quite upset, but the
doctor he said not to worry as it was often like that with mad people,
hating the ones they liked best. And I said, 'She's never gone mad? Not
my mother? Oh, whatever