sed to people who came about testimonials and holiday funds.

Then the Library bell rang, and everyone heaved a breath of relief.

"They're going now," said Phyllis; "he's rung to have them shown out."

But instead of showing anybody out, Ruth showed herself in, and she
looked queer, the children thought.

"Please'm," she said, "the Master wants you to just step into the study.
He looks like the dead, mum; I think he's had bad news. You'd best
prepare yourself for the worst, 'm--p'raps it's a death in the family or
a bank busted or--"

"That'll do, Ruth," said Mother gently; "you can go."

Then Mother went into the Library. There was more talking. Then the bell
rang again, and Ruth fetched a cab. The children heard boots go out and
down the steps. The cab drove away, and the front door shut. Then Mother
came in. Her dear face was as white as her lace collar, and her eyes
looked very big and shining. Her mouth looked like just a line of pale
red--her lips were thin and not their proper shape at all.

"It's bedtime," she said. "Ruth will put you to bed."

"But you promised we should sit up late tonight because Father's come
home," said Phyllis.

"Father's been called away--on business," said Mother. "Come, darlings,
go at once."

They kissed her and went. Roberta lingered to give Mother an extra hug
and to whisper:

"It wasn't bad news, Mammy, was it? Is anyone dead--or--"

"Nobody's dead--no," said Mother, and she almost seemed to push Roberta
away. "I can't tell you anything tonight, my pet. Go, dear, go NOW."

So Roberta went.

Ruth brushed the girls' hair and helped them to undress. (Mother almost
always did this herself.) When she had turned down the gas and left them
she found Peter, still dressed, waiting on the stairs.

"I say, Ruth, what's up?" he asked.

"Don't ask me no questions and I won't tell you no lies," the red-headed
Ruth replied. "You'll know soon enough."

Late that night Mother came up and kissed all three children as they
lay asleep. But Roberta was the only one whom the kiss woke, and she lay
mousey-still, and said nothing.

"If Mother doesn't want us to know she's been crying," she said to
herself as she heard through the dark the catching of her Mother's
breath, "we WON'T know it. That's all."

When they came down to breakfast the next morning, Mother had already
gone out.

"To London," Ruth said, and left them to their breakfast.

"There's something awful the matter," s