went Helen's visions grew more clouded and overcast with
secret misgivings. She found herself worrying for fear Mahala would not
remember some of the little trivial comforts she herself had taken such
delight in remembering for Motherdie. And there were the baby's soft
little shoes that needed patching, and Harry's trousers, and the
dish-towels were in dire need of replenishment. If she only had a dozen
hands these last days, and a dozen times a dozen hours to use them! Her
heart misgave her uncomfortably. But they _wanted_ her to go--of course
it was just right. Nevertheless, her face grew sober and thoughtful, and
something tugged distressingly at her heart-strings.

The day after, and the day after that came. Helen kissed her mother over
and over, and hugged the little Arabs fiercely, and went away. The
houses and people on the way to the depot danced about dizzily in a
mist, and she felt dizzy and topsy-turvy in acute sympathy with them.
Her father walked beside her, talking briskly and constantly. Roy walked
on ahead with her valise and umbrella, and never once looked around.
Helen watched him through the same confusing mist, and his straight,
slim little figure was oddly contorted. He had never looked bow-legged
before, Helen thought in dismay!

The train puffed in and puffed out again, with a little maid, stricken
with sudden, overwhelming forlornness, in the corner of one of its
seats. A plump, benign-looking old lady sat just behind her, and watched
her with curious sympathy. The baby two seats ahead leaned over toward
her insinuatingly, and made her think of _the_ baby and the
clothes-pins. Mahala would never remember the clothes-pins--_never_! And
she had forgotten Harry's patch, that she meant to see to last night
surely. Mahala'd forget _that_, too. Helen started involuntarily to her
feet.

[Illustration: "WHAT IS IT, DEARIE? YOU FORGOT SOMETHIN'?"]

"What is it, dearie? You forgot somethin'?" The plump old lady leaned
ahead and touched her arm in friendly solicitude.

"Yes, oh yes! I forgot the patches on Harry's pants." Helen lamented,
"and the baby's clothes-pins."

"Oh lor, dearie, never mind--never mind! Patches ain't nothin' much, nor
clo'es-pins, neither. I'm comin' over an' set with you. I guess you're
sorter humsick, ain't you? I've got some pep'mints in my bag. I'm goin'
to see if I can't chirk you up."

Helen moved her umbrella and hand satchel, and made room for her new
neighbor. The ar