bs?" she said. She cuddled the child in a close embrace,
and kissed her smooth, cool cheek many times.

"Yes, of course it's me," said Babs, in her matter-of-fact voice. "Your
eyes are quite red, Auntie. Have you been crying?"

"We have had dreadful trouble, my darling--poor Auntie feels very
miserable--it is about father. Your dear father has lost all his money,
my child."

"Miss Mills told me that half an hour ago," said Babs; "that's why I
wanted to see you, Auntie. I has got half a sovereign in the Savings
Bank. I'll give it to father if he wants it."

"You're a little darling," said Aunt Marjorie, kissing her again.

"There's Judy going across the garden," said Babs. "Look at her, she has
her shoulders hunched up to her ears. She's not a bit of good; she won't
play with me nor nothing."

"That child doesn't look at all well," said Aunt Marjorie.

She started to her feet, putting Babs on the floor. A new anxiety and a
new interest absorbed her mind.

"Judy, Judy," she called; "come here, child. I have noticed for the last
week," she said, speaking her thoughts aloud, "that Judy has black lines
under her eyes, and a dragged sort of look about her. What can it mean?"

"She cries such a lot," said Babs in her untroubled voice. "I hear her
when she's in bed at night. I thought she had she-cups, but it wasn't,
it was sobs."

"_She-cups_--what do you mean, child? Judy, come here, darling."

"She-cups," repeated Babs. "Some people call them he-cups; but I don't
when a girl has them."

Judy came slowly up to the window.

"Where were you going, my pet?" asked Aunt Marjorie.

"Only for a walk," she answered.

"A walk all by yourself? How pale you are, dearie. Have you a headache?"

"No, Auntie."

Aunt Marjorie pulled Judy forward. She felt her forehead and looked at
her tongue, and put her in such a position that she could gaze down into
her throat.

Not being able to detect anything the matter, she thought it best to
scold her niece a little.

"Little girls oughtn't to walk slowly and to be dismal," she said. "It
is very wrong and ungrateful of them. They ought to run about and skip
and laugh. Work while you work, and play while you play. That was the
motto when I was a little girl. Now, Judy, love, go out with Babs and
have a good romp. You had better both of you go to the hay-field, for it
might distract your poor father to hear your two merry voices. Run, my
dears, run; make yourselves scarce."