d what a wonderful place to live! Dear
old Goddy! Oh, I _am_ glad. That famous college! Why, it's perfectly
amazing!"

"Nice, of course, but hardly amazing," corrected Jemima, herself once
more. "James is a very brilliant man, you know. I always expected
recognition for him. He should have had some such position long ago. But
he had no knowledge of how to--take advantage of opportunities."

Kate found her voice at last. "I congratulate you, dear," she said
quietly--a tribute which the other accepted with a simple nod, as
becomes true greatness.

And then, suddenly and quite unexpectedly to herself, the face of the
triumphant Mrs. Thorpe crumpled up into a queer little mask of distress,
and she flung herself into her mother's arms and wept aloud.

The others tried to console her, weeping too. Mag's baby, dozing in
front of the fire, sensed the general grief and lifted up her voice in
sympathy. Big Liza, attracted by the commotion, learned the cause of it
and added herself to the group with loud Ethiopian howls of dismay. The
housemaid came running; and soon it was known throughout the quarters
and at the stables that Miss Jemmy was going far away to live, and would
never come back any more. There had not been such excitement of gloom at
Storm since Basil Kildare was brought into the house dead.

It was, characteristically, Jemima herself who quelled the tides of
emotion she had started.

"We mustn't be f-foolish," she gulped, mopping her eyes impartially with
her mother's sleeve and Liza's apron. "It isn't as if I was af-afraid to
go and live among strangers--I'm used to it. B-but I can't help
wondering how you all will manage to get along without me!" The tears
flowed again.--"You're such a _helpless_ person, Mother!"

This to the Madam, the famous Mrs. Kildare of Storm! Jacqueline gasped
at the irreverence.

But for once Kate was not tempted to smile at the girl's egotism. She
was already foretasting the dreariness of life without the critical,
corrective, and withal stimulating presence of her elder child.

The Thorpes' going, after a last Christmas together at Storm, left Kate
and Jacqueline more than ever dependent upon each other. If Philip had
been more exacting as a husband, he might well have complained of his
wife's constant attendance on her mother in those days. But he was so
far from complaining that it was at his suggestion Jacqueline formed the
habit of taking her midday meal at Storm.

It was