itten, and if Dickie had it she would let it go.
Fresh screams from Dickie.

"Lor, Master David," said Nurse in despair, "let her have it, do. I'll
take care it don't get away."

Peace was somewhat restored after Dickie had been allowed to stroke the
kitten on Nurse's lap; but it was not a cheerful carriageful that
arrived shortly afterwards at the Vicarage, every one seemed to have
something to grumble at and be injured about.

"I'm thankful to be home," said Nurse to Jane as they went upstairs.
"I'd rather anyday have a week's work than an afternoon's pleasure."

As for Pennie, she dropped her money into the china-house, and went to
bed that night with the feelings of a martyr. She would not give up her
plan, but she was now beginning to see that it was a failure. No one
showed any real interest in it--no one except herself was willing to
sacrifice anything in the cause. It was certainly lonely and
uncomfortable to stand so high above other people.

CHAPTER FOUR.

"KETTLES."

Pennie was haunted for days after the fair by the bright pages of
"_Siegfried the Dragon Slayer_," for she became more and more conscious
that she had made a useless sacrifice. She might just as well have
bought it, she sadly reflected; none of the others seemed the least
likely to help her in her plan, and certainly she could not carry it out
alone. The more she thought of it the more injured and disappointed she
felt. It was certainly a good plan, and it was certainly right to
sacrifice one's self; of those two things she was sure, and it both hurt
and surprised her to be unable to impress this on her brothers and
sisters. Pennie was used to command, and accustomed to success in most
of her little schemes, and it seemed hard to be deserted in this way.
She stood on a lonely height of virtue, conscious of setting a good
example of generosity; but it was not a cheerful position, and, besides,
no one seemed to notice it, which was vexatious and trying. This made
her by turns condescending and cross, so that she was neither so happy
herself nor so pleasant a companion as she had been.

"I can't think why you're so disagreeable," said Nancy at last. "If
it's because you've put all your money into the box, I wish you'd take
it out again and be as you were before."

"You don't understand," said Pennie, "you never give up anything."

"Yes, I do," replied Nancy quickly, "I've given up three weeks' money
for that broken window."