or hours. There are at least a dozen pillows to be unpicked and
their contents well sorted, and sprinkled with lime. I brought up a
sandwich in my pocket, and don't mean to come downstairs until the job
is done, and well done, too. Nothing frets me like half-finished work,
and these pillows would get on my brain at night if I didn't see to
them."

Molly slowly crossed the linen-press room, and stood by the window.

"There, child," exclaimed Jane, "you're exactly in my light. If you have
anything to say, say it and have done with it. By the way, how is Nora?
I hope they're not spoiling her at the Grange."

"Nora is getting on nicely, thank you."

"It was a lucky chance for her," continued Jane, "that she happened to
be near the Grange when she got hurt. Hester Thornton is sure to give
her every comfort. Molly, you're exactly in my light."

Molly moved to one side of the window.

Jane Macalister went on vigorously with her work, the fluff from the
feathers rose in the air, the smell of the lime was pungent.

"Faugh," continued Jane; "here's a lump for you. Susan Hicks, you'd
better keep out of my way for the present. 'Pon my word! look at this
quill, why I could make a pen with it; disgraceful, perfectly
disgraceful. Molly, I wish you wouldn't fidget. What in the world do you
want to say to me?"

"I want to ask you this," said Molly. "Why has mother gone to London?"

Jane bent low over her work, some fluff got into her nose and made her
sneeze.

"Look here, Molly," she exclaimed; "your mother went to London with your
father because she wished to, I suppose."

"Yes, but why did she wish it?"

"That I am not prepared to tell you, my dear."

Molly stamped her foot.

"I wish you'd look at me, Jane," she said, "and leave off fiddling with
those horrid, detestable feathers. When--when one is quite wretched,
what do feathers matter? I have come home to find father and mother
gone."

"And me over the feathers," interrupted Jane. "Well, I suppose people
want pillows, whether they're happy or miserable. I never knew before,
at least, that they didn't."

"Jane," said Molly, "you're hiding something from me."

Jane Macalister suddenly rose to her feet. She came up to Molly and took
her hand. "I didn't know you'd come over this morning, my love," she
said. "I have been told certain things, and what I'm told in confidence
cart-ropes won't drag from me. Your father and mother have gone to
London because there is a