ing her troubles for a while," as Martin said.
The next day was very little better. Hoodie did not cry quite so much,
but she still sat in a corner doing nothing, and when any one attempted
to speak to her, however kindly, she turned upon them with fierceness,
like a little ill-tempered cat.

Yet it was not ill-temper; it was really misery, or at least it was
ill-temper caused by misery. But as no gentleness and patience, no
sympathy or attempt at comforting her did any good, but harm--and as any
approach to reasoning with her, or scolding her, seemed to harden her
already embittered little heart more and more, what was to be done, what
could be done, but leave her alone? She continued determinedly to
refuse, night and morning, to say her prayers, and refused, too, to say
grace at the nursery table when it was her turn. But of all this Mrs.
Caryll wisely desired Martin to take no notice, and not to try to force
the child to any formal utterance of words in which her heart had no
part.

"It _must_ be all right again soon if only we are patient with her,"
said Hoodie's mother, more cheerfully than she was really feeling, for
she saw that Martin was very much worried and distressed about Hoodie,
and she was anxious to encourage her.

"It is to be hoped so, ma'am, I'm sure," was Martin's rather hopeless
reply.

Somewhat to everybody's surprise, on the third day Hoodie condescended
to ask a favour. Might she go out for a walk alone with Lucy? Everybody
was so enchanted at her seeming to take interest in anything or wishing
for anything, that with some conditions her request was at once granted.
It was arranged that she should set off with Lucy and go wherever she
wished, with the understanding that she would meet Martin and the other
children at four o'clock at a certain point on the road, as it was not
convenient that Lucy should stay out longer. To this Hoodie agreed.

"I'm going through the wood," she said. "I want to get some flowers that
grow there, and Lucy must take a basket and a knife to dig them up, and
then I'll tell her what to do."

"Very well, Miss Hoodie," said Martin, but privately she told Lucy not
to let the little girl go to the cottages at the edge of the wood, for
Martin had never forgotten the fright of Hoodie's escapade several
months ago. "If she gets in the way of going to that young woman's
cottage, she'll be for ever running off," she said. "So silly of the
people to encourage her, when they