y any feelings of
delicacy from catechizing her guest.

"Yes. No, I wasn't coming back from school, it's the holidays--yes,
I'm generally with one of my sisters--no, I wasn't delivering Parish
Magazines, we sent yours by Charlie--yes, I expect my father will be
missing me. Thanks very much for the tea; I think I must be going
now," said Gwen, gulping her second cup and making a move.

"Here's the lantern, Jim," said Mrs. Rawlins to her husband, "and take
Miss Gascoyne round by the road; 'tain't fit to venture over the moor.
It's scarce a night for a Christian to be out--and her with that
churchyard cough, too! Goodness, gracious, how it's blowing!"

Gwen reached home so spent and exhausted with her long tramp through
the snow, that she had only wits enough left wearily to thank Mr.
Rawlins for his escort, and to stumble in at the front door. Winnie
ran forward with a cry of relief, and shouted to Beatrice the welcome
news of the arrival.

"Don't ask me anything! Oh, I just want to go to bed; I'm done!"
wailed Gwen, subsiding on to the nearest chair.

Beatrice took the hint, and refrained from any reproaches till she
had tucked up the prodigal in warmed blankets, with a hot bottle at
her feet, and seen her consume a basin full of steaming bread and
milk. Then she observed:

"I suppose you know Father and half the village are out hunting for
you with lanterns? They raised the Boy Scouts and broke up the Band of
Hope meeting. They telephoned to the Police Station at North Ditton
too. I expect you're rather proud of yourself!"

And Gwen turned her face to the wall and sobbed and coughed till she
nearly choked.

Next afternoon a very miserable-looking object, with watering eyes and
a swollen cheek sat wrapped in a shawl by the fire in Father's study.
Gwen had made her peace with Beatrice and had been forgiven, but she
was still "eating the husks" of her escapade in the shape of a
thoroughly bad cold and a touch of toothache. She refused to stay in
bed, yet the noise of the family sitting-room made her head throb, so
finally Father had taken pity upon her, and allowed her to bring her
troubles into his sanctum. He had said very little about the events of
the day before, but Gwen knew exactly what he must be thinking. She
mopped her eyes with her handkerchief, and tried to believe it was her
toothache that was making her cry. After a long time she said huskily,
a propos of nothing in particular:

"Things always go