ouse.

"Don't send Mom Beck with me," she pleaded, when the time came to start.
"You come with me, mothah."

Mrs. Sherman had not been past the gate for weeks, but she could not
refuse the coaxing hands that clung to hers.

It was a dull, dreary day. There was a chilling hint of snow in the damp
air. The leaves whirled past them with a mournful rustling.

Mrs. Sherman turned up the collar of Lloyd's cloak.

"You must have a new one soon," she said, with a sigh. "Maybe one of
mine could be made over for you. And those poor little shoes! I must
think to send to town for a new pair."

The walk was over so soon. The Little Colonel's heart beat fast as they
came in sight of the gate. She winked bravely to keep back the tears;
for she had promised the doctor not to let her mother see her cry.

A week seemed such a long time to look forward to.

She clung to her mother's neck, feeling that she could never give her up
so long.

"Tell me good-bye, baby dear," said Mrs. Sherman, feeling that she could
not trust herself to stay much longer. "It is too cold for you to stand
here. Run on, and I'll watch you till you get inside the door."

The Little Colonel started bravely down the avenue, with Fritz at her
heels. Every few steps she turned to look back and kiss her hand.

Mrs. Sherman watched her through a blur of tears. It had been nearly
seven years since she had last stood at that old gate. Such a crowd of
memories came rushing up!

She looked again. There was a flutter of a white handkerchief as the
Little Colonel and Fritz went up the steps. Then the great front door
closed behind them.

CHAPTER VII.

That early twilight hour just before the lamps were lit was the
lonesomest one the Little Colonel had ever spent.

Her grandfather was asleep up-stairs. There was a cheery wood fire
crackling on the hearth of the big fireplace in the hall, but the great
house was so still. The corners were full of shadows.

She opened the front door with a wild longing to run away.

"Come, Fritz," she said, closing the door softly behind her, "let's go
down to the gate."

The air was cold. She shivered as they raced along under the bare
branches of the locusts. She leaned against the gate, peering out
through the bars. The road stretched white through the gathering
darkness in the direction of the little cottage.

"Oh, I want to go home so bad!" she sobbed. "I want to see my mothah."

She laid her hand irresolutel