; perhaps
he'll let you in, as you're his chum.'

Jessie longed to try that moment, but she knew she was due at her
needle-work, and very unwillingly went into the drawing-room, where her
mother and sisters were sitting round a lamp-lit table, stitching away
very busily at a new set of shirts for Percy.

'I was looking for you, Jessie,' said the mother in her pleasant voice;
'come and work at double speed, to make up for lost time.'

Jessie had never felt less disposed to work; but when Mrs. Cunningham
made room for her, and gave her the seam she was to do, with a kindly
sympathy in tone and glance that seemed to say she knew just what the
little girl was feeling, though she wasn't going to talk about it, all
her unwillingness melted away. 'Mother is sad too,' she thought. 'I
won't do anything to vex her;' and so she worked away as neatly and
diligently as she could till nine o'clock, which was her bed-time.

'I may go to Cecil before I go to bed, mother, mayn't I?' she whispered
as she was bidding good-night.

Mrs. Cunningham gave permission, and Jessie rushed up-stairs two steps
at a time, but controlled herself to give a very gentle tap at Cecil's
door. It must have been too gentle, for he took no notice of it; but in
answer to another, rather louder, came the question, 'Is it you,
Jessie?' And when he found it was, he opened the door, which was locked,
and let her in.

He seemed to have been unpacking, for his little portmanteau was open on
the floor, and some of his clothes and other possessions were strewn
upon the bed and the one chair, which was the only seat that the little
attic could boast; but he was flushed, and his eyes were red, as if he
had been crying, and he turned away abruptly from his sister when he had
let her in, and began to dive into the portmanteau again.

'Can't I help you?' said she, not knowing well how to begin her task of
comfort. 'I'll fold up the clothes and put them in the drawers, while
you take out the books. Oh! perhaps you meant to leave them in, though.
You won't want them for the holidays?'

'Pretty holidays!' said Cecil passionately, more to himself than to her.
'A single week!'

'I don't understand,' she rejoined in consternation. 'You're not going
back to school in a week, surely?'

'I'm not going back to Eastwood at all, but I'm going to a horrid,
odious, beastly little day school in Fairview;' and Cecil flung out some
books upon the floor, in a manner which did