e myself, and it was fun and I liked it. Ruth would
come. I tried to make her stay away, but she wouldn't, and when she
teased to climb the tree too, I told her not to. She's so little and
young, and her mother doesn't think it's ladylike, and I said if she
wouldn't come with me in the first place I'd give her five cents. But
she would tag on, and later she tried to climb the tree in spite of
everything. She put a board up against the trunk and got on it and
then scrambled up a little way, but she didn't get far, for the board
slipped, or something, and down she went--smash! I guess she must have
hit herself on the edge or somewhere, for when I dropped down she was
lying on the ground, and she had her eyes closed and wouldn't speak.
Then I didn't know what to do. I wanted to lift her, but it was awful
work. There was no one in sight. At last I managed to tug her to the
fence, but, of course, I hadn't the strength to get her over that
alone. I couldn't leave her and run for help, and for a long time I
did nothing but scream, in the hope that some one would come along and
hear. And by and by I heard wheels. It was a milk cart, and I got the
man to help me get her home. I went right to the Newton's as fast as I
could, but when Bridget opened the door and saw who it was she was
simply furious. They wouldn't let me in, and Mrs. Newton sent down
word she wouldn't see me, but she'd attend to me later, and this
afternoon when she called she just called me names and things, and I
couldn't explain to her, I felt so choked. She talked to me so, I
couldn't say a word. You don't know. When people say such things to
me something gets in my throat, and I feel like strangling and doing
all sorts of things. I seem to shut right up when they go at me like
that. I can't speak. I just feel like--well, you don't know what I
feel like. Mrs. Newton asked me where father is, and I told her, and
then she asked about Mr. Turner, for she wants to have things done to
me, and I told her about him. I wouldn't have her think I wanted to
get out of it. She called me names and she thinks I taught Ruth to
tell untruths; she said so. She says if Ruth doesn't get well it will
be my fault. O Delia! I didn't do it. Honestly I wasn't to blame.
But if Ruth is going to be sick and they think I did it--I want my
mother! How can I bear it without my mother?"

Delia gently patted the dark head that had flung itself into her lap.
Her he