d her young
sister until now, when, with swelling heart she listlessly put to rights
the room which had been theirs so long, but which was now hers alone. It
was a sad task picking up that disordered chamber bearing so many traces
of Katy, and Helen's heart ached terribly as she hung away the little
pink calico dressing gown in which Katy had looked so pretty, and picked
up from the floor the pile of skirts lying just where they had been left
the previous night; but when it came to the little half-worn slippers
which had been thrown one here and another there as Katy danced out of
them, she could control herself no longer, and stopping in her work
sobbed bitterly: "Oh, Katy, Katy, how can I live without you?" But tears
could not bring Katy back, and knowing this, Helen dried her eyes ere
long and joined the family below, who like herself were spiritless and
sad.

It was some little solace to them all that day to follow Katy in her
journey, saying, she is at Worcester, or Framingham, or Newtown, and
when at noon they sat down to their dinner in the tidy kitchen, they
said: "She is in Boston," and the saying so made the time which had
elapsed since the morning seem interminable. Slowly the hours dragged,
and at last, before the sunsetting, Helen, who could bear the loneliness
of home no longer, stole across the fields to Linwood, hoping in Morris'
companionship to forget her own grief in part. But Morris was a sorry
comforter then. If the day had been sad to Helen, it had been doubly so
to him. He had ministered as usual to his patients, listening to their
complaints and answering patiently their inquiries; but amid it all he
walked as in a maze, hearing nothing except the words: "I, Katy, take
thee, Wilford, to be my wedded husband," and seeing nothing but the airy
little figure which stood up on tiptoe for him to kiss its lips at
parting. His work for the day was over now, and he sat alone in his
library when Helen came hurriedly in, staring at sight of his face, and
asking if he was ill.

"I have had a hard day's work," he said. "I am always tired at night,"
and he tried to smile and appear natural. "Are you very lonely at the
farmhouse?" he asked, and then Helen broke out afresh, mourning
sometimes for Katy, and again denouncing Wilford as proud and heartless.

"Positively, Cousin Morris," and Helen's eye flashed as she said it, "he
acted all the while he was in the church as if he were doing something
of which he