pathy and surprise.

"I think you must be wrong," she said slowly. "I mean, of course, that I
know you're not rich as my father is rich, for you are such a large
family, and father has only Nan and me; but still, it cannot be true
that your father wants money to the extent of having to sell the colts
to get it, Molly."

"I'm afraid it is true," said Molly, in a sad voice. "I wish it were
only my imagination. You would never take me for a fanciful girl, would
you, Hester? I am always called matter-of-fact, and I think I am. I
really don't care a bit for poetry, and not much for music, and even
story-books don't amuse me unless they're the downright sort, like
'Little Women,' or unless they tell all about housekeeping and that sort
of thing. I love cooking, and I rather like accounts, and I delight in
overhauling the linen cupboard, and I am not a bad hand at darning the
linen. I'm just a commonplace, matter-of-fact sort of girl; it isn't in
me to imagine things."

"Well?" said Hester, for she saw that Molly was intensely in earnest.

"I know I'm right about the money," said Molly. "You cannot think how
troubled father looks sometimes; and mother told me only yesterday that
we were not to go to the seaside this year, and she thinks our shabby
old hats will do quite well for church. You don't suppose I care about
shabby hats, or even about the seaside, but I do care when I see father
looking troubled. Once a stranger came to see him, and they were shut up
together in the library for a long time, and when he went away I noticed
that father looked quite old. Oh, I know there are money troubles, and I
am sure things will get worse. I know what father dreads, and dreads and
dreads. Oh, Hester, if it happens it will kill him!"

"Molly, dear, how white you are. If what happens?"

"Don't whisper it, Hester; but I dread it. If he has to sell the Towers
it will kill him."

"To sell the Towers!" echoed Hester. "I should think so, indeed;
but----"

"What are you two doing up there?" shouted the voice of Nora from below.
"Come down at once and make yourselves useful. The donkey-cart has come,
and so have Guy and Harry, and we are washing the potatoes and want you
to rub them, Molly. Come along down and help, you lazy good-for-nothings."

The girls hastened to obey. As if by magic all trace of a cloud left
Molly's face. It became radiant, smiling, and dimpled. She was once more
matter-of-fact, charming, capable Molly, who cou