e had already expended it on many, many things. But there
remained that other formidable fact--the Widow Sprigg.

How meet her inquiring glances? How convince her that she was still
worthy of trust who had proved herself unworthy? How endure the torrent
of indignation, certain to be let loose upon her when she reappeared at
the kitchen door?

Well, she had the basket! That was yet another and comforting fact. She
hugged it close as she entered the back yard where the housekeeper was
washing the stone path with a vigor as great as if it were the beginning
and not the end of the day. As the gate-latch clicked Susanna looked up,
and Katharine saw that she was "just as cross as she always is on
Saturday afternoon."

"My suz! You back a'ready?"

"Yes, Susanna."

"Well, what you so mealy-mouthed about? You ain't nigh so peart and
hop-skippin' as you was when you started. Didn't you get a good welcome
to the Mansion? Wasn't Madam to home? Don't squeeze that basket so
tight. Eunice won't admire to have it smashed."

"I won't smash it, Susanna."

Katharine wondered why she should be so afraid of this sharp-tongued
woman when she hadn't been really afraid of the disreputable tramp. She
wondered why she couldn't burst forth with her story, which certainly
was a strange one, as sure of sympathy here as she would have been with
Aunt Eunice. Perhaps that dear, if dignified, old lady had returned, and
if so she would go straight to her.

"Has aunty come, Widow Sprigg?"

"No. She hain't. Nor likely to. Word's come, though, that we needn't
look for her till we see her. That sick woman is so glad to have her
she's goin' to keep her over Sabbath, an' I warn you, what with Moses on
my hands an' the hull house to look after, I want no monkey-shines from
you. Well, what did Madam say? Didn't she think my butter was as good as
hers? Hey? What?"

Hope died in Katharine's breast. At first she had loved Susanna best,
better than Miss Maitland. Now, for just one look into Eunice's face!

But she wouldn't be a coward. Feeling that she had done something very
wrong, yet not knowing how she could have helped it, she looked straight
into Susanna's eyes, and answered:

"I haven't seen Madam Sturtevant. I didn't go there."

Over the rest of that interview it is well to draw a veil.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE COTTAGE IN THE WOOD

After having cried herself to sleep in the sitting-room chamber, feeling
very lonely and forlorn because