think that her harvest-time is over."

"Poor old lady!" said Percival. "And her strength is failing?"

Judith nodded: "She does her best, but it makes my heart ache to see her.
She comes down in the morning trying to look so bright and young in a
smart cap and ribbons: I feel as if I could cry when I see that cap, and
her poor shaky hands going up to it to put it straight." There were tears
in the girl's voice as she spoke. "And her writing! It is always the bad
paper or the bad pen, or the day is darker than any day ever was before."

"Does she believe all that?" the young man asked.

"I hardly know. I think she never has opened her eyes to the truth, but I
suspect she feels that she is keeping them shut. It is just that trying
not to see which is so pathetic, somehow. I find all manner of little
excuses for doing the writing, or whatever it may happen to be, instead of
her, and then I see her looking at me as if she half doubted me."

"Does the school fall off at all?"

"I'm not sure. Schools fluctuate, you know, and it seems they had scarlet
fever about six months ago. That might account for a slight decrease in
the numbers: don't you think so?"

"Oh, certainly," said Percival, with as much confidence as if
boarding-school statistics had been the one study of his life. "No doubt
of it."

They walked a few paces in silence, and then Judith said, "Perhaps she
will be better after the holidays. I think she is very tired, she is so
terribly drowsy. She drops asleep directly she sits down, and is quite
sure she has been awake all the time. I'm so afraid the girls may take
advantage of it some day."

"But even for Miss Crawford's sake you must not do too much," urged
Percival.

"I will try not. But it is such a comfort to me to be able to help her! If
it were not for that, I sometimes question whether I did wisely in coming
here at all."

"If it is not an impertinent question--though I rather think it is--what
should you have done if you had not come?"

"I should have stayed with an aunt of mine. She wanted me, but she would
not help Bertie, and I fancied that I could be of use to him. But I doubt
if I can do him much good, and if I lost my situation I should only be a
burden to him."

"Perhaps that might do him more good than anything," Percival suggested.
"He might rise to the occasion and take life in earnest, which is just
what he wants, isn't it? For any one can see how fond he is of you."

"He's a d