he cares, now, or that cross old housekeeper; I mean--all the Mill
people. You see the Mills have grown very fast and there are lots and
lots of people working in them, but Mr. Norris, he's the superintendent,
is very old-fashioned and he'll never improve things." Robin racked her
brains to recall Dale's and Adam Kraus' exact words. "He's letting the
people live in awful houses and they don't have any fun or--or anything.
And Dale--he's Beryl's brother--says they'd work much better if they had
everything nice. _He_ says the Forsyths don't care, that they just think
of the Mill people as parts of a machine to make money for them, and not
as human beings. Why, there was a girl, Sarah Castle--" and Robin, her
tongue loosed, told eloquently of Sarah Castle and of Susy and Granny
and the old cottage "up the river," and then--because it made it seem so
real to tell about it--of her House of Laughter.

"Of course," she finished, "if I were a boy I could do much more--or
even if I were big. You see, there's been what Mr. Harkness calls a
gloom over the Manor for a long time; and my great-aunt's been so sad
over that that she couldn't think of anything else--and maybe I'll be
doing something if I just show the Mill people that a Forsyth, even if
she's only a girl, _does_ care--a little bit. Don't you think so?"

At her appeal the Dowager Queen turned such a haughty face upon her and
answered in such a cold voice: "I'm sure I do not know," that Robin
turned crimson with embarrassment. Of course, a Queen could not even be
remotely interested in the Manor and the Mills--especially if she had to
worry over a whole kingdom herself. She had been silly to rattle on the
way she had!

Brina, quite unknowingly, came to the rescue with a tray of cakes and a
pot of cocoa.

Their hostess, her annoyance put aside, smiled graciously again, and
poured the cocoa into little cups while the firelight flashed from the
brooch on her dress. Brina went back and forth with heavy tread,
sullenly watchful of her mistress' smallest need. The girls sat close to
the table upon which still lay the book of cathedral prints and sipped
their cocoa and ate their cakes. The wintry sun shone in through the
curtained windows, giving the room, with its pale glow, a melancholy
cheerfulness.

"Must you really go?" asked their hostess, politely, when, a half-hour
later, Robin and Beryl exclaimed at the lateness of the hour.

"Why, we never meant to stay so long!