"Father never
tells the worst. O father! Father! and I am not even at home to be with
him. If I could see him I should know; but here I am in prison, and--
and I can't know what is happening at home!" and Kitty collapsed on her
bed, sobbing pitifully.

"Katherine! Katherine! what is the matter, child?" Miss Pidsley,
hearing sounds of grief, opened the door and looked in, then she walked
in and closed it behind her.

"I have had such dreadful news," moaned Kitty. "Father is very ill--
I know he is worse than he says--and I am not there, and--and I am here
a prisoner. Read what he says, Miss Pidsley."

Miss Pidsley laid her strong hand on Kitty's trembling arm. "Dear, you
must know that if your father wanted you, or thought it necessary that
you should be home, that he would send for you, and you could go at
once, so do not feel yourself a prisoner." Then she read the letter
slowly and carefully through.

"Isn't it dreadful?" sighed Kitty, looking up at her as she laid the
letter down.

"It is a trouble for you certainly, dear," said Miss Pidsley. "But I
think you have every reason to hope that your father may soon be well
and strong again, and in the meantime I see he has given you plenty to
do for him. Don't let him know that you are not able or willing to do
what he asks you to."

"What has he asked me to do?" cried Kitty, starting up eager to begin
then and there.

Miss Pidsley held out the letter, and pointed out one particular
paragraph. "If you want to help me--and I know you will--you must be as
happy and do as well at school as you possibly can. That will help me
more than anything."

"But that can't really help him, and--and it is so difficult." Kitty
looked up into Miss Pidsley's face very dolefully.

"But it does help, dear, more than you can imagine. Nothing would worry
your father more than to feel you were unhappy. Do try, for his sake.
You can't refuse his request, can you?"

"No," said Kitty mournfully, "I can't. I--I will try, but--it is very
hard to begin at once, isn't it? One is frightened and unhappy before
one knows one is going to be, and then it is so hard to forget it again
and try to feel brave and happy, and all that sort of thing; and oh, it
does seem so dreadful that father should be ill, and have to go away
from us. I can hardly believe it."

"You must try not to think of it in that way, dear, but think that he
has been ill for some time without being able to d