sed him, then began to shake out the cushions,
and put them back in their places.

"Am I to come home?" he asked.

"Yes, I've come to fetch you."

"You've got a new dress on."

It was in eighteen-eighty-five, and she wore a bustle. Her gown was of
black velvet, with tight sleeves and sloping shoulders, and the skirt had
three large flounces. She wore a black bonnet with velvet strings. She
hesitated. The question she had expected did not come, and so she could
not give the answer she had prepared.

"Aren't you going to ask how your mamma is?" she said at length.

"Oh, I forgot. How is mamma?"

Now she was ready.

"Your mamma is quite well and happy."

"Oh, I am glad."

"Your mamma's gone away. You won't ever see her any more." Philip did not
know what she meant.

"Why not?"

"Your mamma's in heaven."

She began to cry, and Philip, though he did not quite understand, cried
too. Emma was a tall, big-boned woman, with fair hair and large features.
She came from Devonshire and, notwithstanding her many years of service in
London, had never lost the breadth of her accent. Her tears increased her
emotion, and she pressed the little boy to her heart. She felt vaguely the
pity of that child deprived of the only love in the world that is quite
unselfish. It seemed dreadful that he must be handed over to strangers.
But in a little while she pulled herself together.

"Your Uncle William is waiting in to see you," she said. "Go and say
good-bye to Miss Watkin, and we'll go home."

"I don't want to say good-bye," he answered, instinctively anxious to hide
his tears.

"Very well, run upstairs and get your hat."

He fetched it, and when he came down Emma was waiting for him in the hall.
He heard the sound of voices in the study behind the dining-room. He
paused. He knew that Miss Watkin and her sister were talking to friends,
and it seemed to him--he was nine years old--that if he went in they would
be sorry for him.

"I think I'll go and say good-bye to Miss Watkin."

"I think you'd better," said Emma.

"Go in and tell them I'm coming," he said.

He wished to make the most of his opportunity. Emma knocked at the door
and walked in. He heard her speak.

"Master Philip wants to say good-bye to you, miss."

There was a sudden hush of the conversation, and Philip limped in.
Henrietta Watkin was a stout woman, with a red face and dyed hair. In
those days to dye the hair excited comment, and Philip had heard