e world, you know, and I'll be coming home for all
high-days and holidays. After I really get started I daresay I _can_
work at home,--and perhaps, you know, it will be Bo-Peep herself who
comes home, bringing her tales behind her!"

But Sarah Farraday was still protesting in a cross panic when they had
taken leave of a subdued Martin and were creeping upstairs in Miss Lydia
Vail's house.

"Look!" said Jane, nodding at the transom over her aunt's door. "She's
fallen asleep again without turning off her light. You go on, Sally, I'll
be right in."

Miss Lydia was propped up on two pillows, an open book before her on the
patchwork quilt, and her head had sagged forward on the breast of her
blue flannelette nightgown. She was making a low comedy sound which would
have distressed her beyond measure if she had heard it. When Jane took
the book from under her plump hands and gently removed one of the pillows
she came back to consciousness with a jerk.

"I wasn't asleep," she stated with dignity. "Not really asleep; I just
closed my eyes to rest them and sort of lost myself for an instant." Her
eyes narrowed intently. "My dear, what is it? You look--you look queer!
Sort of--excited!" A quick, pink blush mounted over her face. "Jane! Oh,
my _darling_ child--is it--has Martin"--then, disappointedly, as the girl
shook her head,--"Is it just that you've been having a wonderful time?"

"It's just that I've been having a wonderful idea, Aunt Lyddy!" She
patted the pillow. "I'll tell you to-morrow!"

"What, Jane? What _is_ it? I sha'n't sleep a wink if you don't tell me!"

"I'm going away for a while, Aunt Lyddy, dear,--to New York. I want to
see if I can really do something with my writing."

The little spinster paled. "Jane! Going _away_?" Her eyes brimmed up with
sudden tears. "My dearest girl, aren't you happy in your home? I've
tried, oh, how I've tried to take your dear, dead mother's place! But it
seems----"

"Of course I'm happy,--I've always been happy, Aunt Lyddy! Now, we'll
wait till morning and then talk it all over." She pulled up the gay quilt
smoothly, but her aunt sat stiffly upright, her face twisted with alarm.

"My _dear_ child! What _is_ it?"

Jane stood looking down at her for an instant before she stooped and
gathered her into a hearty hug. "It's nothing to be frightened about.
It's just this, Aunt Lyddy; I do want to write, and I don't want to marry
Martin Wetherby!"

* *