annot understand those things. It is a strange
age in which we are living, Katie. I sometimes think that our only hope
is to trust God a little more."

"Or help man a little more," said Katie.

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Prescott gently, "that giving more trust to God
would be giving more help to man."

"I'm not sure I get the connecting link," said Katie, more sure of
herself now that it had become articulate.

Mrs. Prescott put one of her fine hands over upon Katie's. "Why, child,
you can't mean that. That would have hurt your mother."

For the moment Katie did not speak. "If mother had understood just what I
meant--understood all about it--I don't believe it would." A second time
she was silent, as it struggled. "And if it had"--she spoke it as a thing
not to be lightly spoken--"I should be very deeply sorry, but I would
not be able to help it."

"Why, child!" murmured her mother's friend. "You're talking strangely.
You--the devoted daughter you always were--not able to 'help' hurting
your mother?"

Katie's eyes filled. It had become so real: the things stealing around
her, the thing in her which must push them back, that it was as if she
were hurting her mother, and suffering in the consciousness of bringing
suffering. Memory, the tenderest of memories, was another thing weaving
itself around her, clinging to her heart, claiming her.

But suddenly she leaned forward. "Would I be able to _help_ being
myself?" she asked passionately.

Mrs. Prescott seemed startled. "I fear," she said, perplexed by the tears
in Katie's eyes and the stern line of her mouth, "that we are speaking of
things I do not understand."

Katie was silent, agreeing with her.

Mrs. Prescott broke the silence. "The world is changing."

And again agreeing, Katie saw that in those changes friends bound
together by dear ties might be driven far apart.

"Katie," she asked after a moment, "tell me of my boy and your friend."
There was a wistful, almost tremulous note in her voice. "You have
sympathy and intelligence, Katie. You must know what a time like this
means to a mother."

Katie could not speak. It seemed she could bear little more that night.
And she longed for time to think it out, know where she stood, come to
some terms with herself.

But forced to face it, she tried to do so lightly. She thought it just
a fancy of Harry's. Wasn't he quite given to falling in love with
pretty girls?

His mother shook her head. "He cares for her.