late. I have no end of schemes in my
head. I mean to help you. You will win that scholarship."

Ruth smiled. Presently she and Cassandra were crossing the common
arm-in-arm. In the interest of their own conversation they forgot
Kathleen.

When that young lady left the house she ran back to the Tennants'.

"I will write to dad to-night and tell him that I can't stay," she
thought. "Oh, dear, my heart is in my mouth! I shall have a broken heart
if this sort of thing goes on."

She entered the house. There sat Mrs. Tennant with a great basket of
stockings before her. The remains of a rough-looking tea were on the
table. The boys had disappeared.

"Come in, Kathleen," called Mrs. Tennant, "and have your tea. I want
Maria to clear the tea-things away, as I have some cutting out to do; so
be quick, dear."

Kathleen entered. The untidy table did not trouble her in the least; she
was accustomed to things of that sort at home. She sat down, helped
herself to a thick slice of bread-and-butter, and ate it, while burning
thoughts filled her mind.

"Have some tea. You haven't touched any," said Mrs. Tennant.

"I'd rather have cold water, please," Kathleen replied.

She went to the sideboard, filled a glass, and drank it off.

"Mrs. Tennant," she said when she had finished, "what possessed you to
live in England? You had all the world to choose from. Why did you come
to a horrible place like this?"

"But I like it," said Mrs. Tennant.

"You don't look as if you did. I never saw such a worn-out poor body.
Are you awfully old?"

"You would think me so," replied Mrs. Tennant, with a smile; "but as a
matter of fact I am not forty yet."

"Not forty!" said Kathleen. "But forty's an awful age, isn't it? I mean,
you want crutches when you are forty, don't you?"

"Not as a rule, my dear. I trust when I am forty I shall not want a
crutch. I shall be forty in two years, and that by some people is
considered young."

"Then I suppose it is mending those horrid stockings that makes you so
old."

"Mending stockings doesn't help to keep you young, certainly."

"Shall I help you? I used to cobble for old nurse when I was at home."

"But I shouldn't like you to cobble these."

"Oh, I can darn, you know."

"Then do, Kathleen. I should take it very kindly if you would. Here is
worsted, and here is a needle. Will you sit by me and tell me about your
home?"

Kathleen certainly would not have believed her own ears had she been