cried. "This house--this house
is too big."

"It's because she isn't here," Helen said.

"John, you're the oldest. Make us happy."

"But I'm feeling scared myself," he said comically. "And the front
door's wide open, I'll bet."

"And that swearing tramp could walk in if he liked!"

"But we mustn't be afraid of open doors," Helen said, and listened to
her own words for a moment. Then she smiled, remembering where she had
heard them. "We're frightening each other, and we must wash up. Look at
the muddle!"

"It will make a clatter," Miriam objected, "and if you hadn't gone for
that walk and made the house feel lonely, I shouldn't be like this now.
Something's peeping at me!"

"It's only Mr. Pinderwell," Helen said. "Come and dry."

"I shall sleep in your bed tonight."

"Then I shall sleep in yours."

"I wish Rupert would come."

"John, do go and shut the windows."

"But take a light."

"It would be blown out."

Helen lowered the mop she had been wielding. "And Notya--where is she?"

John lifted his shoulders and opened the door. A gust of wind came down
the passage, the front door was loudly shut, and Rupert whistled
clearly.

"Oh, here he is," Miriam said on a deep breath, and went to meet him.

John pointed towards the hall. "I don't know why he should make us all
feel brave."

"There's something--beautiful about him," Helen said.

CHAPTER X

Helen was ironing in the kitchen the next afternoon when Daniel
Mackenzie appeared in the doorway. She turned to him with a welcome, but
the perfection of her manner was lost on Daniel: for the kitchen was
empty of Miriam, and that was all he noticed.

"Hasn't Rupert come with you?" Helen asked.

"I missed him," he said in his melancholy voice. "Perhaps he missed me,"
he added with resignation. He was a tall young man with large hands and
feet, and his eyes were vague behind his spectacles. "I thought he would
be here. Is everybody out?"

"Notya's away, you know."

"He told me."

"And John and Miriam--I don't know where they are."

He found it difficult to talk to Helen, and as he sat down in the
armchair he searched his mind for a remark. "I thought people always
ironed on Tuesdays," he said at last.

"Some people do. These are just odd things."

"Eliza does. She makes us have cold supper. And on Mondays. It's too
bad."

"But there can't be much to do for you."

"I don't know. There's washing on Monday, and on Sunday she goes to
ch