ive us time before the twelfth. We can't
buy silks and satins without the wherewithal, can we?"

"Oh, Auntie! are you slaving like this for me?" exclaimed Dorothy.
"Can't we get the dress any other way?"

"No, dear; I can't afford it out of the house-keeping money, and it is
one of my rules never to run into debt for anything. Don't worry;
another day will see me through, and I think the editor of the
_Coleminster Gazette_ will like the articles--they're better than the
ones he accepted last year."

Dorothy went upstairs uneasy and dissatisfied with herself. Aunt
Barbara's good-night kiss had roused something that had been slumbering
for a long time. Thoughts that the girl had suppressed lately began to
make themselves heard, and to clamour loudly and reproachfully. She
tried to put them away, but they refused to be dismissed. With her eyes
shut tight in bed, she seemed to see a vision of Aunt Barbara's tired
face as she sat working, working so painfully hard in the sitting-room
below.

"And for me--always for me--never for herself," reflected Dorothy. "She
hasn't bought a new dress of her own this spring, though she needs one
badly."

She looked with compunction next morning at Miss Sherbourne's pale
cheeks.

"Does your head ache, Auntie?"

"Yes. I haven't been quite well lately, but I expect it will pass. You
shall buy me some phenacetin powders in town; they always do my head
good. Dr. Longton recommended them."

"She looks more fit to be in bed than at her writing table," thought
Dorothy, as she left the room, armed with the necessary prescription.
She hurried away from school at four o'clock in order to give herself
time to call at the chemist's, and ran anxiously into the house on her
return, bearing the packet of powders in triumph.

"Sh! Sh! Don't make a noise," said Martha, coming from the kitchen.
"Your aunt's lying down. I told her it would come to this, and I've
proved my words. It's an attack of her old complaint. It always comes
back with overwork."

"Is she really very ill?" faltered Dorothy.

"I don't know. I've just sent Jones's boy with a message for Dr.
Longton. No, you mustn't go disturbing her till he's been. Take your
things off, and I'll bring you your tea."

Dorothy ate her solitary meal in sad distress. She could remember two
former illnesses of Aunt Barbara's, and she was old enough now to
realize how much cause there was for alarm. She waylaid the doctor on
his arrival, and be