kitchen in search of some. "Mary doesn't seem able to remember that fires
go out if there is nothing to put on them," she laughed, as she struggled
back panting under the weight of a scuttle of coal and an armful of logs.
"But we shall be all right soon," she added as she knelt before the grate
and began building up a fire. "I do love wood and a pair of bellows,
don't you, daddy!" blowing away hard at hot embers. But Mr. Carlyle did
not answer her. Instead he asked with rather an anxious note in his
voice, "Does Mary find she has too much to do?"

Faith sat back on her heels and eyed the kindling sticks with a well
pleased air. "No-o, I don't think so, daddy. There might be too much--if
she did it," with a little laugh, "but she says she likes being where
there are no other servants, and plenty of life. In her last place there
were three or four servants and only an old lady to look after, and Mary
says the quietness was awful. Nothing ever happened but the quarrels of
the servants amongst themselves."

"I suppose they were so occupied with their quarrels that Mary had not
time to learn how to do things--nicely?" Mr. Carlyle's eyes glanced sadly
about the untidy room and then at the ill-laid supper table.

Faith looked up at him in mild surprise; it had never occurred to her that
there was anything lacking in the care of the house. Her glance followed
his and rested on the supper table too.

"Oh, daddy, I believe you have had nothing since dinner. You must be
frightfully hungry, I know you must, and the dinner was so badly cooked--
oh, poor daddy! Why didn't you come home to tea?"

"I had barely finished my round of calls in time to keep an appointment
Dr. Gray had made with me. He wanted," he added more slowly, his face
growing grave and troubled, "to talk to me about your mother."

Faith looked up quickly at him, her large eyes full of anxiety, her heart
throbbing heavily. Then there was more trouble in store, more anxiety!
She had felt it for days in her inmost heart, but had not had the courage
to put her fears into words. "Is mother--worse?" her voice faltered and
broke.

Mr. Carlyle, gazing, absorbed and troubled, into the fire, did not see her
blanched cheeks and the dread that filled her eyes. He had no suspicion
of the awful fear which had haunted her every waking moment, and even
her dreams, or he would not have kept her in suspense while his thoughts
ran on to plans for the future.

"