ned, and so couldn't even leave a note to explain
her own going. She would write one to-night to bid them wait for Mrs.
Moss's explanation. And afterward she could tell them that she couldn't
bear to see them again. And by that time they would have their own Elsie
with the dimples.

And she would be with Miss Pritchard? She supposed so, but she couldn't
go there to-night. Eventually, she must; she wasn't sufficiently clever
or self-reliant to take care of herself; but she wouldn't go to New York
while Mrs. Moss--that terrible Mrs. Moss--was there. What she had said
was quite true, but oh, it had been hard and cruel, and Elsie could never
forget it!

She had made up her mind to go into Boston to a hotel where she had
lunched several times, write Cousin Julia from there, and wait until she
should hear from her. She was anxious to get away before Mr. Middleton,
who had gone to the library in her place, should return. And yet she
took a wide detour that doubled the way to the station; for she could not
bear to go near the street on which the library stood.

Forgetting her haste, before she had gone far, she turned and looked back
at the parsonage. It was like home to her. Leaving it forever, she
realized dimly that it was home to her, the only real home her life had
known. And Aunt Milly? Once, not so long ago, Elsie couldn't have
imagined herself wanting to go back and throw her arms about her and tell
her she wished she had understood and loved her long before. And
Katy--dear old Katy!----

Turning away, she almost ran. She met no one in the out-of-the-way path
she chose, and she was to take the six-two train for Boston, which
Enderby people rarely used.

The station stood on a hill. As she climbed it, Elsie decided to ask the
agent, whom she knew slightly, to telephone to the parsonage after the
train had gone to say that something had called her away, and that Mrs.
Moss would explain. Fearing lest he might forget the latter clause, she
stopped and wrote the message out. As she did so, it came to her that
they might think she had gone away with her stepmother, and wouldn't be
disturbed.

As she took up her satchel again, she heard some one behind her on the
wooden walk. Kate had come by the direct way, but she had stopped to put
a skirt and jacket over her kitchen-dress and to squeeze her feet into
boots to hide the holes in her stockings. Warm with the extra clothing
and the unusual effort, Kat