was this child to suffer so; how unfair that she
should be suffering alone; how wicked it was to send souls into the
world unwanted.

"You could do something about it, and You ought to," she urged, aloud.
"Oh, God, what a pity You are not a woman!"

Even in her agony, it seemed a queer sort of prayer to Mag Henderson.
But strong hands held hers close, a strong heart pounded courage into
hers; and who shall say that the helpless tears on Kate Kildare's face
were of no help to a girl who had known nothing in all her life of the
sisterhood of women?

At last came the sound of thudding hoofs in the lane, and a clear voice,
the echo of Kate's own, calling, "Mother! Where are you? _Mother!_
Answer me. I'm coming--"

Mrs. Kildare made a trumpet of her hands and shouted, "Here, Jack. Here
in Mag's cabin."

"Safe?"

"All safe."

"Phil, Phil!" called back the voice, breaking. "Come on. It's all right!
We've found her! She's safe!"

In a moment a whirlwind of pink muslin burst in at the door, and
enveloped Mrs. Kildare in an embrace which bade fair to suffocate, while
anxious hands felt and prodded her to be sure nothing was broken.

"Oh, Mummy darling," crooned the beautiful voice, "_how_ you frightened
us! You're sure no bones are smashed--nothing sprained? Poor Clover had
worked herself into a perfect panic, galloping home all alone. And the
servants screaming, and Jemima fearing the worst, as she always does.
And we didn't even know where to hunt for you, till Philip came--Oh,
_Mother_!"

"There, there, baby--it 's all right. No time for pettings now. There 's
work to be done. Why didn't Jemima come? This is no place for a madcap
like you."

Jacqueline chuckled and shivered. "The Apple Blossom"--she referred to
her elder sister, Jemima--"was turning your room into a hospital-ward
when I left, against the arrival of your mangled corpse. She had also
ordered the wagon prepared like an ambulance, mattresses, chloroform,
bandages--every gruesome detail complete. Our Jemima," she said, "is
having the time of her life--isn't she, Reverend Flip?"

Mrs. Kildare smiled in spite of herself. The description of her eldest
daughter was apt. But she said reprovingly, "Yon sound as if you were
making fun of your sister, dear. And don't call Philip 'the Reverend
Flip.' It is rude."

"Pooh! Rudeness is good for that elderly young man," murmured
Jacqueline, with an engaging smile in his direction.

But the elderly young man