Theodore Starr's little daughter had come to him quite naturally in her
first great sorrow!

CHAPTER XIV

And there Marcia Lowe found her. Fortunately the little doctor went
early to the church, for she had conceived of a Christmas such as The
Hollow had never known, and it seemed fitting that Theodore Starr
should be the host!

Quite merrily she entered and went directly to the stove to start a
fire. As she drew near, the outstretched form of Cynthia Walden caught
her eyes and she cried aloud in astonishment and fright. At first she
thought the girl was frozen to death, for she lay so still and her thin
clothing was evidence of the danger run.

"Dear heart! dear heart!" whispered Miss Lowe, overcoming her desire to
take the girl in her arms until she had made a fire. Once the genial
heat began to spread Marcia Lowe set a kettle of water on the stove and
then gave her maternal instincts full play. She gathered the slight
form close and kissed again and again the thin oval cheek and close
shut mouth.

"Poor little, little girl!"

The warmth and sound stole into Cynthia's far place and summoned her
back. Her first look was full of terror; her second was one of
unearthly joyousness, and then because the woman of Cynthia had no need
to battle longer for her, the child made its claims and, clinging and
sobbing to the little doctor she moaned again and again:

"I am so afraid; so afraid!"

It was long before Miss Lowe could quiet her. She wrapped her heavy
coat about her and forced some drops of hot water between the stiff,
chilled lips. Then she bathed the face and hands gently with water
cooled with snow, murmuring tenderly meanwhile:

"Dear little girl; poor little Cynthia! It's all right now."

When the girl was soothed and comforted she went to the store to buy
food--anything to be had, for she knew instinctively that whatever was
the cause, Cynthia had tasted no food that day.

"Come back soon!" moaned the girl crouching by the stove, "I am so
afraid."

After she had eaten some stale crackers, soaked in diluted condensed
milk, Cynthia sat up, still and pale, and faced Marcia Lowe dumbly,
imploringly.

"Can you tell me, little Cyn?"

"No!" The voice was distant and monotonous.

"But something has happened, dear. I want to help you."

"The factory--is burned down!" A shudder ran over the rigid young
figure. Marcia Lowe saw that she might hope to win her way if she did
not start