eart sank indeed in the
face of such a double trouble.

"Oh, if only father were home!" was her first thought. "But even if we
send at once he can't be here for ever so long." A moment later,
though, she remembered his health, and how bad such news would be for
him, with all those miles between, too; and she felt that unless it was
absolutely necessary, they must spare him this trouble.

Rowe, the driver, came forward to help her to her seat. "I think you'd
best go outside, missie," he said gently, "you'm looking so white.
P'r'aps the air'll do 'ee good. I'm afraid you've had a bad shock."

"I--I think I have," gasped Kitty, as, very grateful for his sympathy,
she mounted obediently.

Then Weller, who had suddenly disappeared, came back carrying a cup of
steaming tea and a plate of bread and butter. "Drink this, missie, and
eat a bit," he said, clambering carefully up with his precious burden,
"then you'll feel better. You look as if you hadn't tasted nothing but
trouble lately," he added sympathetically, as he arranged the tray on
the seat beside her, and hurried down again to escape any thanks.

Tears of gratitude were in Kitty's eyes as she ate and drank; and from
sheer desire to show how much she appreciated his kindness, she finished
all he had brought her, knowing that that would gratify him more than
any thanks could.

She certainly felt better for the food, and more fit to face the long
drive home; and never to her life's end did she forget that drive on
that sunny June morning--the dazzling white dusty road stretching before
them, the hedges powdered with dust, the scent of the dog-roses and
meadow-sweet blossoming so bravely and sending up their fragrance, in
spite of their dusty covering, to cheer the passers-by. Then, when at
last they reached the town, familiar faces looked up and recognized her,
and most of them greeted her sympathetically.

It was all so natural, so unchanged; yet to Kitty, seeing it for the
first time with eyes dazed with trouble, it seemed as though she had
never seen it before--at least, not as it looked to her now. She tried
to realize that it was only she who had changed, that all the rest was
just as it had always been. She felt suddenly very much older, that
life was a more serious and important thing than it had been--so serious
and important that it struck her as strange that any one could smile or
seem gay.

With kind thoughtfulness Rowe did not stop at all on