the first real breaking of ties in Kate's little family, and he
knew his lady well enough to realize that her cheerful, quiet exterior
concealed a very lonely heart just then. So lonely, indeed, that Kate
more than once considered the idea of asking Philip and Jacqueline to
come and live with her at Storm, for she missed her old-time
confidential talks with Philip almost as much as she missed Jemima.

But Philip was spared at least that test of devotion.

"Young birds to their own nest," she reminded herself, sighing.

Occasionally she sent for Philip as in the old days, for the purpose of
discussing business or parish matters. He always came, schooling himself
to the manner that might be expected of an affectionate son-in-law, but
usually managing to bring Jacqueline with him. She was puzzled and a
little hurt by his new intangible reserve. She could not quite
understand the change in him, and decided with some bitterness that he
had lost interest in her now that she had given him what he wanted of
her--namely, Jacqueline. That, she reminded herself, was the way of the
world. She who knew men should not have been surprised.

And Jacqueline made up to her as best she could for Philip's defection.
She had gone back lately to the ways of her little girlhood, loved to
sit at Kate's feet in front of the grate fire, or even in her lap--no
small accomplishment, for she was almost as tall a woman as her
mother--listening while Kate read aloud, interrupting her frequently
with caresses, making love to her as only Jacqueline could. Kate laughed
at her for what she called her "mommerish" ways; but she found them very
sweet, nevertheless. It was as if the girl were trying to be two
daughters in one, and a faithless Philip to boot.

Kate, too, had gone back to old ways that winter, and occupied her hands
with much sewing for Mag's baby. She had been, in the days before larger
affairs took up so much of her time, a tireless needlewoman, and knew
well the mental relaxation that comes to those who occasionally "sit on
a cushion and sew a fine seam." She explained smilingly that she was
preparing for old age, when nothing would be expected of her but to make
clothes for her grandchildren; and meanwhile Mag's baby reaped the
benefit.

Small Kitty had grown apace, a placid, dimpled little creature, who
stayed with great docility wherever she was put, content to amuse
herself with her ten fingers, or the new accomplishment of blowing