out it until I have sold some--at least, only mother and
you."

Faith nodded back brightly, immensely pleased at being trusted with the
mighty secret. She was very proud of Audrey and thought her cleverness
quite remarkable.

Mrs. Carlyle was proud of her daughter too, and pleased that, at any rate,
one of her children inherited her talent for writing. At least her
taste--she hoped that in time it would prove a talent. And for nearly an
hour she patiently listened and advised.

"You must not be too sure of yourself yet, dear," she said at last, a
somewhat weary note in her voice. "You must be content to read and
practise for a long time yet----"

"But mother, I am sure I could write a story as good as one I read a few
days ago--there was simply nothing in it."

"But Audrey, you surely would not be content to write a story only as good
as a very poor one! Your aim should be to write one better than a very
good one."

"To begin with, mother! I couldn't do that to begin with--and oh, I do
want to see one in print!"

Mrs. Carlyle sighed. She was very tired. "I thought you wanted my
advice, dear," she said gently. "Now, will you read me the Psalms,
please. My books have been waiting such a long time for you to begin.
They will be home from church before we have read the lessons, I am
afraid. Oh, I am afraid I must trouble you to get me my glass of milk
now, before we begin. I shall not be able to take it if I leave it any
later. I wonder if Joan is all right? I have not heard her call, have
you?"

Audrey jumped up hurriedly and ran into the next room.

Baby Joan was asleep, but with the bed-clothes kicked back and all her
little body exposed to the night breeze from the open window.

"Oh dear," sighed Audrey impatiently, "I think children do things on
purpose to annoy one." She was cross because she was really alarmed.
Joan was very cold, she must have been lying uncovered for nearly an hour.
"She really deserved a whipping." Audrey covered the little body up
warmly and hurried back to her mother's room with her tale of woe.
She had quite forgotten the glass of milk.

Mrs. Carlyle did not grow irritable as she listened, though she had every
reason to be, but she was greatly worried. "I should have reminded you to
go in and see that she was all right," she said, full of self-reproach.
"Isn't it dreadful to think that if Faith goes out we can none of us be
trusted to take care of anything properl