ing; the
other means sewing societies, and silly gossip over clothes, beaux, and
crops."

Mrs. Howland laughed, though she sobered instantly.

"But there must be something, some one that you enjoy," she suggested.

Kate shook her head wearily.

"Not a thing, not a person," she replied; adding with a whimsical
twinkle, "they're all like the dishes, Aunt Ellen,--bound to accumulate
crumbs and scraps, and do nothing but clutter up."

"Oh, Kate, Kate," remonstrated Mrs. Howland, "what an incorrigible girl
you are!" As she spoke her lips smiled, but her eyes did not--there
was a wistful light in their blue depths that persistently stayed there
all through the day as she watched her niece.

At ten, and again at half-past, some neighbors dropped in. After they
had gone Kate complained because the forenoon was so broken up. The
next few hours were free from callers, and at the supper table Kate
grumbled because the afternoon was so stupid and lonesome. When Mr.
Merton came in bringing no mail, Kate exclaimed that nobody ever
answered her letters, and that she might just as well not write; yet
when the next day brought three, she sighed over the time "wasted in
reading such long letters."

The week sped swiftly and Sunday night came. Mrs. Howland's visit was
all but finished. She was going early the next morning.

Sunday had not been an unalloyed joy. Mrs. Howland and her niece had
attended church, but to Kate the sermon was too long, and the singing
too loud. The girl mentioned both in a listless way, at the same time
saying that it was always like that except when the sermon was
interesting, then it was too short and the choir took up all the time
there was with their tiresome singing.

Dinner had been long in preparation, and, in spite of Mrs. Rowland's
gladly given assistance, the dish-washing and the kitchen-tidying had
been longer still. All day Kate's step had been more than lagging, and
her face more than discontented. In the twilight, as the two women sat
together, Mrs. Rowland laid hold of her courage with both hands and
spoke.

"Kate, dear, is n't there something, anything, worth while to you?"

"Nothing, auntie. I feel simply buried alive."

"But can't you think of anything--"

"Think of anything!" interrupted the girl swiftly. "Of course I can!
If I had money--or lived somewhere else--or could go somewhere, or see
something once in a while, it would be different; but here--!"

Mrs. Howl