THE MAKING OF MONA. 

BY MABEL QUILLER-COUCH. (Author of 'Troublesome Ursula, ' 'A Pair of Red-Polls, ' 'Kitty Trenire, ''The Carroll Girls', Etc. , Etc. )

ILLUSTRATED BY E. WALLCOUSINS. 

LONDONSOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE. NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 

[Illustration: Granny stood staring at her broken treasures. ]

CHAPTER I. 

The kettle sat on the hob, and Mona sat on the floor, both as idle as idlecould be. 

"I will just wait till the kettle begins to sing, " thought Mona; andbecame absorbed in her book again. 

After a while the kettle, at any rate, seemed to repent of its laziness, for it began to hum softly, and then to hum loudly, and then to sing, butMona was completely lost in the story she was reading, and had no mind forrepentance or anything else. She did not hear the kettle's song, nor eventhe rattling of its cover when it boiled, though it seemed to be trying inevery way to attract her attention. It went on trying, too, until at lastit had no power to try any longer, for the fire had died low, and thekettle grew so chilly it had not even the heart to 'hum, ' but sat on theblack, gloomy-looking stove, looking black and gloomy too, and, if kettleshave any power to think, it was probably thinking that poor old grannyBarnes' tea would be scarcely worth drinking when she came home presently, tired and hungry, from her walk to Milbrook, for Mona, even if sherealised that the water had boiled, would never dream of emptying it awayand filling the kettle afresh, as she should do. 

But Mona had no thought for kettles, or tea, or granny either, for herwhole mind, her eyes, her ears, and all her senses were with the heroineof the fascinating story she was absorbed in; and who could remember firesand kettles and other commonplace things when one was driving through alovely park in a beautiful pony carriage, drawn by cream-coloured ponies, and seated beside an exquisitely dressed little lady who had more moneythan she could count, and insisted on sharing all with her companion?

Mona certainly could not. She never could manage to remember two thingsat the same time; so, as all her thoughts were absorbed by hergolden-haired friend in the blue silk frock, granny in her old blackmerino and heavy boots was forgotten as completely as the fire, and it wasnot until someone came stumbling up the garden path and a tired voicesaid, "Well, dearie, I'm come at last, how have you got on since I've beengone?" that she remembered anything about either; and when she did shefelt almost sorry that granny had come quite so soon, for if she had onlybeen a few minutes later Mona might just have finished the chapter. 

"Oh, I'm so tired!" groaned granny, dropping wearily into her arm-chair. "I have been longing for a nice cup of tea for this hour and more. "Then, as her eyes fell on the black grate, her voice changed to one ofdismay. "Why, Mona!" she cried, "the fire's gone clean out! Oh, dear!oh, dear!" Granny's voice was full of disappointment. With anyone butMona she would have been very cross indeed, but she was rarely cross withher. "I daresay it'll catch up again quickly with a few sticks, "she added patiently. 

Mona, really ashamed of herself, ran out to the little wood-rick whichstood always in the back-yard. "Stupid old fire, " she mutteredimpatiently, "of course it must go out, just to spite me because I wantedto have a little read, " and she jerked out the sticks with such force thata whole pile of faggots came tumbling down to the ground. She did notstay, though, to pick them up again, for she really was sorry for hercarelessness, and wanted to try and catch up the fire as quickly aspossible. She had fully meant to have a nice fire, and the tea laid, and the kettle on the point of boiling, and everything as nice as could beby the time her grandmother got back from the town. But one never got anycredit for what one meant to do, thought Mona with a feeling of self-pity. 

By the time she got back to the kitchen her grandmother had taken off herbonnet and shawl and was putting on her apron. "My feet do ache, " shesighed. "The roads are so rough, and it's a good step to Milbrook andback--leastways it seems so when you're past sixty. "

Mona felt another pang of shame, for it was she who should have gone tothe town to do the shopping; but she had not wanted to, and had complainedof being tired, and so granny had gone herself, and Mona had let her. 

"Let me unlace your boots, granny, and get your slippers for you. "She thought she would feel less guilty if she did something to make hergrandmother more comfortable. "You sit down in your chair, I'll do allthat's got to be done. "

Mrs. Barnes leaned back with a sigh of relief. "Bless the dear child, "she thought affectionately, "how she does think for her old granny!"She had already forgotten that Mona had let the fire go out, and neglectedto make any preparations for her home-coming; and Mona, who could be verythoughtful and kind if she chose, knelt down and unlaced the heavy boots, and slipped the warm, comfortable slippers on to the tired old feet, laughing and chattering cheerfully the while. 

"Now you are to sit there, gran, and not to dare to move to do one singlething. I'm going to talk to that fire, and you'll see how I'll coax himup in no time, and if that kettle doesn't sing in five minutes I'll takethe poker to him. " And, whether it was because of her coaxing or not, the fire soon flamed cheerfully, and the kettle, being already warm, beganto sing almost as soon as Mona had got the cloth spread. 

While she waited for it to come to boiling point, she sat down on herlittle stool by the fire, and took up her book again. "Just to have alittle look at the pictures for a minute, " she explained. "Oh, granny, itis such a lovely story, I must tell you about it. "

"Yes, dear, I'd like to--some day. "

But Mona did not hear the 'some day. ' She was already pouring intogranny's ear all she had read, and granny interjected patiently, "Yes, dearie, " and "Oh my!" and "How nice!" though she was so faint andweary she could not take in half of Mona's chatter. 

Presently the kettle boiled again, but Mona was once more lost toeverything but her story, and it was granny who got up and made the tea. 

"It's all ready, dearie, " she said, as she sank into her chair once more. "You must tell me the rest while you are having it. Oh, there's no butterout. " She had to get up again and drag her aching feet to the littlelarder for the butter, and as soon as she had settled herself again shehad to get up and get a teaspoon. Mona had forgotten a half of the thingsshe should have laid, and she had forgotten, too, that granny was tired. 

"And oh, granny, " she went on breathlessly, "on her birthday Pauline worea muslin dress, with blue forget-me-nots worked all over it, and a bluesash, and--and a hat just covered with forget-me-nots. "

"She must have looked like a bed of them, " remarked Granny. 

"Oh, _I_ think she looked perfectly sweet! I'd love to have clothes likeshe had. Of course, she didn't have to do _any_ work--nothing at all allday long. "

"Well, I know a little girl who doesn't do much, " remarked granny quietly, but Mona did not hear her. 

"Granny, do you think I'll be able to have a new hat this summer?Mine is ever so shabby--and shall I have forget-me-nots on it? I'd ratherhave forget-me-nots than anything. I suppose I couldn't have a blue sashto wear with it, could I, Gran? I don't think they cost very very much. Millie Higgins, in at Seacombe, had a plaid one, and she was sure itdidn't cost a great deal, she said. Her uncle brought it to her, but Millie never wears it. She doesn't like plaid; she wishes it waspink. I'd wear it if 'twas mine, but I'd rather have a blue one. Do youthink I can have a new hat, granny?"

"We will see. If your father is able to send some more money for you Imight be able to manage it; but with your stepmother always ailing hismoney seems to be all wanted for doctor's bills and medicines. It doesseem hard. "

Mona's face fell. "And I don't suppose the medicine does any good, doyou, granny?"

"Some folks believe in it, and I s'pose if you believe in it it does yougood. For my own part, I never had but two bottles in my life, and Idon't see that I'm any the worse for going without. In fact, I----"

Mona, who always sat at the side of the table facing the window, sprang toher feet excitedly. "Why, it's the postman! and he's coming in here, "she interrupted, and was at the door to meet him before he had power toknock. She came back more slowly, carefully studying the one letter sheheld. "It's from father, " she said eagerly, as she at last handed it toher grandmother. "Oh, granny! I wonder if he has sent any money?"

Granny was evidently surprised. "A letter from your father! Whatever canhe be writing about? I haven't written to him since I had his last. I hope he isn't having more trouble. "

"Perhaps he has written to know why you haven't, " said Mona shrewdly. 

"Oh, granny, do make haste and open the letter, I am longing to knowwhat's inside!"

But letters did not come every day to Hillside Cottage, so when they didthey must be made the most of. Mrs. Barnes examined the envelope back andfront; the handwriting, the stamp, the postmark; then she had to go to adrawer to get a skewer with which to slit the envelope, then herspectacles had to be found, polished, and put on, and at long last shetook out the letter and began to read. 

Mona chafed with impatience as she watched her. Her eyes looked ready topop out of her head with eagerness. "Why don't you let me read it toyou?" she cried at last, irritably, and regretted her words as soon asthey were spoken. Granny laid the letter on the table beside her andfixed her eyes on Mona instead. "I am not got past reading my own lettersyet, " she said sternly, looking out over the tops of her spectacles ather. Mona was dreadfully afraid they would fall off, and then thepolishing and fixing process would all have to be gone through again, but she had the wisdom to hold her tongue this time, and granny took upthe letter again, and at last began to read it, while Mona tried hard toread granny's face. 

She did not utter aloud one word of what she was reading, but presentlyshe gave a little half-suppressed cry. 

"Oh, granny, what's the matter?" Mona could keep quiet no longer. 

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! Here's a pretty fine thing. Your father wants youto go home. "

Mona's face fell again. Then he had not sent any money, and she would notbe able to have her hat! For the moment nothing else seemed to matter. 

"What does he want me home for?" she asked sullenly. 

"Your stepmother has been ill again, and the doctor says she mustn't beleft alone, and must have someone to help her. She's terrible nervouswhen your father's away to the fishing, so you've got to be fetched home. "Mrs. Barnes spoke resentfully. Her daughter, Mona's mother, had died whenMona was a sturdy little maiden of ten, and for eighteen months Mona hadrun wild. Her father could not bear to part with her, nor would he haveanyone to live with them. So Mona had been his housekeeper, or rather, the house had kept itself, for Mona had taken no care of it, nor of herfather's comforts, nor of her own clothes, or his. She just leteverything go, and had a gloriously lazy, happy time, with no one torestrain her, or make her do anything she did not want to do. 

She was too young, of course, to be put in such a position; but she didnot even do what she might have done, and no one was surprised, and no oneblamed her father--no one, at least, but Mrs. Barnes--when at the end ofeighteen months he married pretty, gentle Lucy Garland, one of thehousemaids at the Squire's. 

Mrs. Barnes, though, resented very strongly anyone being put in her deaddaughter's place, with control over her daughter's child, and she hadwritten angrily enough to Peter, demanding that Mona should be given up toher. And though he doubted the wisdom of it, to please and pacify her, Peter Carne had let her have the child. "Not for good, " he said, "for I can't part with her altogether, but for a long visit. "

"If she puts Mona against Lucy, it'll be a bad job, " he thoughtanxiously, "and mischief may be done that it'll take more than I know toundo. "

However, Mona felt none of the dislike of her stepmother that hergrandmother felt. In fact, she was too happy-go-lucky and fond of changeto feel very strongly about anything. She had got her father's home andall his affairs into such a muddle she was not sorry to go right away andleave it all. She was tired of even the little housework she did. She hated having to get up and light the fire, and, on the whole, she wasvery glad for someone else to step in and take it all off her shoulders. And as she had left her home before her stepmother came to it, she had notexperienced what it was to have someone in authority over her. 

So Mona felt no real grievance against her stepmother, and, with all herfaults, she was too healthy-minded to invent one. Her grandmother's nottoo kind remarks about her had fallen on indifferent ears, and, fortunately, had had no effect except to make Mona feel a sort of mildscorn for anyone so constantly ailing as Lucy Carne was. 

She felt no sympathy for the cause of the ill-health, even though she knewthat it all began one bitter, stormy night when Lucy and the wives of theother men who were out at sea stood for hours watching for the first signsof the little storm-tossed boats, in the agony of their hearts, deaf andblind, and entirely unconscious of the driving sheets of rain and thebiting east wind which soaked and chilled them to the bone. 

When at daybreak the storm lulled, and the boats, with all safe on board, were seen beating up before the wind, all the misery and wet and cold wereforgotten as they hurried joyfully home to make up big fires and preparehot food for the exhausted men. But more than one woman paid heavily forthe night's experience, and Lucy Carne was among them. 

For days she had lain writhing in the agony of rheumatic fever. For daysshe had lain at the gates of death, and when at last she came back tolife again, it was such a wreck of her old self that she was scarcely ableto do anything. And this in Granny Barnes' eyes had been an addedgrievance. 

It was a greater grievance than ever now, for it meant that hergrandchild, her very own daughter's child, was to be taken from her, towork for the stranger who had taken her daughter's place. 

Fortunately, Mona had no such foolish thoughts. Her only grievance wasthat the money which might have been spent on a new hat would have to bespent on the carrier. "And nobody will be any the better for it, exceptMr. Darbie, and he's got lots already. They say he has a whole bagful ina box under his bed. "

"Your stepmother will be better off. She'll have you, " said Granny Barnescrossly. "Well, the letter's spoilt my tea for me. Anyway, I don't wantanything more. I've had enough for one while. "

Mona looked surprised. "Oh, has it! I thought you were hungry, granny. I am, " and she helped herself to another slice of bread and butter. "I wonder which day I'd better go?--and I must wear my best frock, mustn'tI? Such a lot of people go by the van, and you've got to sit so close youcan't help seeing if anybody's clothes are shabby. "

"Um, you seem to have thought it all out, but you don't seem to thinkanything of leaving me, nor of what my feelings may be. You'd better wearyour best frock and your best hat too, then your father and yourstepmother will see that you want something new for Sundays. It's as wellfolk should learn that all the money can't be spent on doctors andphysic--that there's other things wanted too!"

But this speech only sent Mona's expectations higher, and lessened herregrets at leaving. If going home to Seacombe and her new mother meanthaving a new hat and dress, she would only be the more pleased at havingto go. She was so occupied with these thoughts that she did not noticeher grandmother rise and leave the kitchen, nor did she see the tears inthe sad old eyes. But her dreams of a journey, clad all in her best, were suddenly broken in upon by a sharp scream. The scream came from thebackyard. Mona flew out at once. It was getting dark out of doors now, but not too dark for her to see her grandmother stretched on the groundwith faggots of wood lying all around her. 

For a moment Mona's heart seemed to stand still with fear. She thoughther grandmother was killed, or, at any rate, had broken her leg. Then, toher intense relief, Mrs. Barnes groaned, and began to rouse herself. 

"However did these things come scattered about like this, I should like toknow, " she cried angrily. But in her relief at knowing she was able tomove and speak Mona did not mind granny's crossness. 

"Didn't you pull them down?"

"I pull them down. " Granny's voice was shrill with indignation. "It wasthey pulled me down! I wonder I wasn't killed outright. It must havebeen those cats that knocked them over. They are always ranging all overthe yard. I shall tell Mrs. Lane if she can't keep them in she'll have toget rid of them. Oh, dear, what a shaking I've had, and I might havebroke my leg and my head and everything. Well, can't you try an' give mea hand to help me up?"

But Mona was standing dumb-stricken. It had come back to her at last. It was she who had pulled down the faggots and left them. She had meantto go out again and pick them up, and, of course, had forgotten aboutthem, and she might have been the cause of a terrible accident!She was so shocked and so full of remorse, she could not find a word toutter. Fortunately, it was dark, and her grandmother was too absorbed tonotice her embarrassment. All her time was taken up in getting on to herfeet again and peering about her to try and catch sight of the cats. 

Perhaps if granny had been less determined to wage war on the cats, Mona might have found courage to make her confession, but while she waitedfor a chance to speak her courage ebbed away. She had done so many wrongthings that afternoon, she was ashamed to own to more, and, after all, shethought, it would not make it better for granny if she did know who reallyscattered the faggots. So in the end Mona held her tongue, and contentedherself with giving what assistance she could. 

"This is Black Monday for me!" she said to herself as she helped hergrandmother into the house again. "Never mind, I'll begin betterto-morrow. There's one good thing, there's no real harm done. "

She was not so sure, though, that 'no harm was done' when she woke thenext morning and heard loud voices and sound of quarrelling coming fromthe garden. She soon, indeed, began to feel that there had been a greatdeal of harm done. 

"Well, what I say is, " her grandmother cried shrilly, "your cats werenearly the death of me, and I'll trouble you to keep them in your ownplace. "

"And what I say is, " cried her neighbour, "my cats were never near yourfaggot rick. They didn't go into your place at all last night; they wereboth asleep by my kitchen fire from three in the afternoon till after we'dhad our supper. Me and my husband both saw them. You can ask himyourself if you like. "

"I shan't ask him. I wouldn't stoop to bandy words about it. I know, andI've a right to my own opinion. "

"Do you mean to say you don't believe what I say?" cried Mrs. Laneindignantly. "Do you mean to tell me I'm telling an untruth?Well, Mrs. Barnes, if you won't speak to my husband, and won't believe me, perhaps you'll ask your Mona! I daresay she can tell you how the faggotsgot scattered. She was out there, I saw her from----"

"That's right! Try and put it off on the poor child! Do you expect me tobelieve that my Mona would have left those faggots----"

"Ask her, that's all, " said Mrs. Lane, meaningly. "And now I've done. I ain't going to have anything more to say. You're too vi'lent andonreasonable, Mrs. Barnes, and I'll trouble you not to address me againtill you've 'pologised. "

Granny laughed, a short sarcastic laugh. "'Pologise!" she cried shrilly, "and me in the right too! No, not if I lived next door to you for fiftyyears, I wouldn't 'pologise. When you've 'pologised to me, Mrs. Lane, I'll begin to think about speaking to you again. "

Mona, standing shivering by the window, listened to it all with a sickfeeling of shame and dismay. "Oh, why does granny say such dreadfulthings! Oh, I wish I'd spoken out at once! Now, when granny asks me, I shall have to tell her, and oh, " miserably, "won't she be angry?"

But Mona escaped that ordeal. Her grandmother did not mention thesubject, for one reason; she felt too unwell; an outburst of anger alwaysmade her ill; and for another, she was already ashamed of herself and ofwhat she had said. Altogether, she was so uncomfortable about the wholematter, and so ashamed, and vexed, she wanted to try to forget all aboutit. 

CHAPTER II. 

John Darbie and his one-horse van journeyed from Milbrook to Seacombeevery Tuesday and Friday, passing Mrs. Barnes' cottage on their way;and on Wednesdays and Saturdays he journeyed home again. The two placeswere only ten miles apart, but, as John's horse 'Lion' never travelledfaster than three miles an hour, and frequent stops had to be made to pickup passengers and luggage, and put down other passengers and otherluggage, the journey was seldom accomplished in less than six hours. 

The day that Mona travelled to Seacombe the journey took longer thanusual, for they had to stop at Barnes Gate--an old turnpike--to pick up acouple of young pigs, which were to be brought by a farm boy to meet themthere; and as the pigs refused to be picked up, and were determined torace back to their home, it took John and the farmer's boy, and some ofthe passengers, quite a long time to persuade them that their fate lay inanother direction. 

Mona, homesick and depressed, was quite glad of the distraction, thoughshe felt sorry for the poor pigs. At that moment she felt sorry foranyone or anything which had to leave its old home for a new one. 

Only a few days had elapsed since that evening when her father's letterhad come, and her grandmother had fallen over the faggots, but such long, unhappy days they had been. Her grandmother had been silent anddepressed, and she herself had been very unhappy, and everything hadseemed wrong. Sometimes she had longed to be gone, and the parting over. Yet, when at last the day came, and she had to say good-bye to granny, and her own little bedroom, and the cottage, and to leave without sayinggood-bye to Mrs. Lane, it seemed almost more than she could bear. She looked out at the cottage and at granny, standing waving herhandkerchief, but she could scarcely see either because of the mist in hereyes, and, when at last the van turned a corner which cut them offentirely from view, the mist in her eyes changed to rain. 

If it had not been for the other people in the van, Mona would have jumpedout and run back again, and have confessed all to granny, and have beenhappy once more. She knew that if she asked granny to forgive her, she would do so before long, even if she was vexed with her at first. 

But Mona's courage failed her. The people in the van would try to stopher, and very likely would succeed, and there would be such a chatteringand fuss. Her spirit sank at the thought of it, and so she hesitated andwavered until it was too late. 

It was not to be wondered at that she welcomed the little scene with thepigs at the four cross-roads, and felt quite glad when Mr. Darbie askedher to get out and stand at the end of one of the roads to keep the poorlittle things from running down it. 

"We shan't get to Seacombe till nightfall, " grumbled the old man when atlast he had got the pair into two sacks, and had fastened them up securelyon the tail-board of the van. 

"And I've got to catch the five o'clock train from there, " said one of thepassengers sourly. "If ever you want to be a little bit earlier thanusual, you're bound to be later. It's always the way. "

Old John Darbie always recovered his temper when other people had losttheirs. He realised how foolish they looked and sounded. "Aw, don't youworry, missus, " he said, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "She'll wait for me. They wouldn't let no train start 'fore me and mypassengers was in!"

All the rest of the passengers laughed, Mona too, at which the sour-facedwoman glared at them angrily. Then they jogged on again, and by that timeMona had recovered sufficiently to be able to take more interest in hersurroundings. 

She noticed that the woman beside her, and the woman opposite her, werelooking her up and down, and she felt very glad that she had on her besthat and dress. She did wish, though, that she had mended the hole in hergloves, for one of the women seemed more attracted by them than byanything else, and it was really rather embarrassing. She longed to puther hands behind her back to hide them, but that would have looked toopointed; so, instead, she turned round and looked out of the window, pretending to be lost to everything but the view. 

It was a very pretty road that they were travelling, but very hilly, and Lion's pace grew, if possible, even slower. One or two of thepassengers complained loudly, but Mona was enjoying herself thoroughlynow. To her everything was of interest, from the hedges and the ploughedfields, just showing a tinge of green, to the cottages and farms theypassed here and there. To many people each mile would have seemed justlike the last, but to Mona each had a charm of its own. She knew all thehouses by sight, and knew the people who dwelt in some of them, and whenby and by the van drew near to Seacombe, and at last, between a dip in theland, she caught her first glimpse of the sea, her heart gave a greatleap, and a something caught in her throat. This was home, this was herreal home. Mona knew it now, if she had never realised it before. 

At Hillside something had always been lacking--she could hardly have toldwhat, but somehow, she had never loved the place itself. It had neverbeen quite 'home' to her, and never could be. 

"I expect you're tired, dear, ain't you?" the woman beside her asked in akindly voice. The face Mona turned to her was pale, but it was withfeeling, not tiredness. 

"Oh, no, " she cried, hardly knowing what she felt, or how to put it intowords. "I was a little while ago--but I ain't now. I--I don't think Icould ever feel tired while I could see that!" She pointed towards thestretch of blue water, with the setting sun making a road of gold rightacross it and into the heaven that joined it. 

The woman smiled sadly. "Are you so fond of it as all that! I wish Iwas. I can't abide it--it frightens me. I never look at it if I can helpit. It makes me feel bad. "

"And it makes me feel good, " thought Mona, but she was shy of saying so. "I think I should be ashamed to do anything mean when I was in sight ofthe sea, " she added to herself. And then the old horse drew up suddenly, and she saw that they had actually reached their journey's end. 

As she stepped down from the van and stood alone in the inn yard, whereJohn Darbie always unloaded, and put up his horse and van, Mona for thefirst time felt shy and nervous. She and her new mother were reallystrangers to each other. They had met but once, and that for only alittle while. 

"And p'raps we shan't get on a bit, " thought Mona. "P'raps she's veryparticular, and will be always scolding!" and she felt very miserable. And then, as she looked about her, and found that no one, as far as shecould tell, had come to meet her, she began to feel very forlorn, andill-used too. All the sharp little unkind remarks about Lucy Carne, whichhad fallen from Granny Barnes' lips, came back to her mind. 

"I do think somebody might have come to meet me!" she said to herself, andbeing tired, and nervous, and a little bit homesick for granny, the tearsrushed to her eyes. Hastily diving in her pocket for her handkerchief, her fingers touched her purse, and she suddenly realised that she had notpaid John Darbie his fare! With a thrill and a blush at her ownforgetfulness, she hurried back to where he was busy unloading his van. He had already taken down the pigs and some bundles of peasticks, and achair which wanted a new cane seat, and was about to mount to the top todrag down the luggage which was up there, when he saw Mona waiting forhim. 

"Please, here's my fare. I'm sorry I forgot it, and how am I to get mybox up to my house?"

"Get your box up? Why the same way as you'll get yourself up. Hop insideagain, and I'll drive 'ee both up in a minute. I promised your mother Iwould. You hold on to your money now, it'll be time enough to settle upwhen I've done my job, " and the old man chuckled amiably at his littlejoke. 

But Mona did not want to get back into the close, stuffy van again, andsit there in solitary state, with everyone who passed by staring at her. So, as soon as John Darbie was safely on the top and busy amongst theboxes there, she walked quietly out of the yard and into the street. 

How familiar it all was, and how unchanged! After Milbrook--the littleugly new town, scarcely worthy the name of town--and the hamlet where hergranny lived, the street and houses looked small and old-fashioned, butthey looked homelike and strong. The Milbrook houses, with their wallshalf a brick thick, and their fronts all bow-windows, would not havelasted any time in little stormy, wind-swept Seacombe. Experience hadtaught Seacombe folk that their walls must be nearly as solid as thecliffs on which many of them were built, and the windows must be small andset deep in the walls; otherwise they were as likely as not to be blown inaltogether when the winter storms raged; that roofs must come well down tomeet the little windows, like heavy brows protecting the eyes beneath, which under their shelter, could gaze out defiantly at sea and storm. 

To Mona, seeing them again after many months' absence, the houses lookedrough and poor, and plain; yet she loved them, and, as she walked up thesteep, narrow street, she glanced about her with eager, glowing eyes. For the time her loneliness and nervousness were forgotten. Here andthere someone recognised her, but at that hour there were never manypeople about. 

"Why, Mona Carne! is it really you! Well, your mother and father'll beglad to have you home again. " Mona beamed gratefully on the speaker. 

"Is it really Mona, " cried another. "Why, now, you've grown! I didn'tknow you till Mrs. Row said your name!"

Mona began to feel less forlorn and ill-used, and she was more glad thanever that she had on her best clothes, and had put her hair up in squibsthe night before. 

Outside one of the few shops Seacombe possessed, she drew up and looked inat the windows with interest. They had improved a little. The draper'swas particularly gay with new spring things, and to Mona who had not seena shop lately, unless she walked the three miles to Milbrook, the sightwas fascinating. One window was full of ties, gloves, and ribbons; theother was as gay as a garden with flowers of every kind and colour, allblooming at once. Many of them were crude and common, but to Mona's eyesthey were beautiful. There were wreaths of wall-flowers, of roses, and oflilacs, but the prettiest of all to Mona was one of roses andforget-me-nots woven in together. 

"Oh, " she gasped, "how I'd love to have that one! Oh, I'd love it!"There were hats in the window, too. Pretty, light, wide-brimmed hats. Mona's eyes travelled backwards and forwards over them till she saw one ofthe palest green straw, the colour of a duck's egg. 

"Oh, wouldn't the roses and forget-me-nots look lovely on that, with justa bow of white ribbon at the back. Oh, I wish----"

"Why, it's Mona Carne!" cried a voice behind her, and Mona, wheelingswiftly round, found Millie Higgins at her elbow. 

"Why, who ever would have thought of meeting you strolling up the streetjust as though you had never been away!" cried Millie. "But you've grown, Mona. You are ever so much taller than when you went away, and yourhair's longer too. Do you think I am changed?"

Mona was delighted. She wanted to be tall, and she wanted to have nicelong hair. She had never cared for Millie Higgins before, but at thatmoment she felt that she liked her very much indeed, and they chatteredeagerly to each other, lost to everything but the news they had to pourinto each other's ears. 

After a little while, though, Millie tired of talking. She wanted to geton, and what Millie wanted to do she generally did. "I must fly--andthere's your poor mother home worrying herself all this time to afiddle-string, wondering what has become of you. She expected the van anhour ago, and had got your tea all ready and waiting for you. "

Mona started guiltily, and then began to excuse herself. "Well, we werelate in coming, we were so long on the road. Mr. Darbie said he'd driveme up, but I liked walking best. If I had gone up by the van I shouldn'thave been there yet, so it's all the same. "

"The van! Why, it's gone by. Only a minute ago, though. If you runyou'll be there almost as soon as he will. "

Without staying to say good-bye, Mona ran, but either Millie's minute hadbeen a very long one, or 'Lion' had stepped out more briskly at the end ofthe day than at the beginning, for when Mona got to the house John Darbiewas just coming away. "Thank'ee, ma'am, " he was saying, and Mona saw himputting some coins in his pocket. 

"I've got the----" she began to call out to him, but stopped, for her newmother came out to the gate, and looked anxiously down the hill. She waslooking for herself, Mona knew, and a fit of shyness came over her whichdrove every other thought from her mind. 

But almost as quickly as the shyness came it disappeared again, for Lucy'seyes fell on her, and, her face alight with pleasure, Lucy came forwardwith arms outstretched in welcome. "Why, you poor little tired thing, you, " she cried, kissing her warmly, "you must be famished! Come in, do. I was quite frightened about you, for I've been expecting you this hourand more, and then when Mr. Darbie came, and brought only your box, it seemed as if I wasn't ever going to see you. Come in, dear, " drawingMona's arm through her own, and leading her into the house. "Sit down andrest a bit before you go up to see your room. "

Exhausted with excitement, and talking, and the extra exertion, Lucyherself had to sit down for a few minutes to get her breath. Mona, moretired than she realised until she came to sit down, lay back in herfather's big chair and looked about her with shy interest. How familiarit all seemed, yet how changed. Instead of the old torn, soiled drabpaper, the walls were covered with a pretty blue one, against which thedresser and table and the old familiar china showed up spotless anddainty; the steel on the stove might have been silver, the floor was asclean and snowy as the table. 

Mona's memory of it all was very different. In those days there had beenmuddle, dust, grease everywhere, the grate was always greasy and chokedwith ashes, the table sloppy and greasy, the floor unwashed, even unswept, the dressers with more dust than anything else on them. Mona couldscarcely believe that the same place and things could look so different. 

"Oh, how nice it all is, " she said in a voice full of admiration, and Lucysmiled with pleasure. She knew that many girls would not have admittedany improvement even if they had seen it. 

"Shall we go upstairs now?" she said. "I've got my breath again, " and sheled the way up the steep little staircase, which Mona remembered so well. 

"You know the way to your old room, don't you?"

Mona walked ahead to it, but at the door she drew up with a cry ofdelight. "Oh, Mother!" she turned to say with a beaming face, and withoutnoticing that she had called her by the name about which she and grannyhad debated so long. 

Lucy noticed it though, and coloured with pleasure. She had felt more shythan had Mona, about suggesting what her stepchild should call her. "Thank you, dear, for calling me that, " she said, putting her arm abouther and kissing her. "I didn't know, I wondered how you would feel aboutit. "

But Mona was too delighted with everything she saw to feel anything butpleasure and gratitude then. The walls had been papered with a prettyrose-covered paper, the shabby little bed had been painted white. Pretty pink curtains hung at the window, and beside the bed stood a smallbookcase with all Mona's own books in it. Books that she had left lyingabout torn and shabby, and had thought would have been thrown away, orburnt, long ago. Lucy had collected them, and mended and cleaned them. And Lucy, who had brought to her new house many of the ideas she hadgathered while in service at the Squire's, had painted the furniture whitetoo, to match the bed. 

Mona had never in her life before seen anything so pretty and dainty. "Isn't it lovely!" she cried, sitting down plump on the clean white quilt, and crushing it. "I can't believe it's for me. " She looked about herwith admiring eyes as she dragged off her hat and tossed it from her, accidentally knocking over the candlestick as she did so. 

Lucy stooped and picked up both. The candlestick was chipped, the hat wascertainly not improved. 

"The chipped place will not show much, " said Lucy in her gentle, tiredvoice, "but you've crushed the flowers in your hat. "

Mona looked at the hat with indifferent eyes. "Have I? Oh, well, it's mylast year's one. I shall want a new one for the summer. "

"Shall you, dear?"

Mona did not notice the little anxious pucker of her mother's forehead. Carried away by all that had been done for her already, she had thefeeling that money must be plentiful at Cliff Cottage. Her father's boathad done well, she supposed. 

But before any more was said, a sound of footsteps reached them frombelow, and a loud voice, gruff but kindly, shouted through the littleplace "Lucy, where are you, my girl? Has the little maid come?" and thenext moment Mona was darting down the stairs and, taking the last in oneflying leap, as in the old days, sprang into her father's arms. 

"My word! What a big maid you are grown!" he cried, holding her a littleway from him, and eyeing her proudly. "Granny Barnes must have taken goodcare of you! And now you've come to take care of Lucy and me. Eh! Isn't that it?"

"Yes, dad, that's it, " cried Mona, excitedly, and sat back with all herweight on the pretty flowers and the fresh eggs that her grandmother hadsent to Lucy by her. 

Her father looked vexed. He knew how much his ailing wife enjoyed fresheggs, and how seldom she allowed herself one, but he could not very wellexpress his feelings just when Mona had come back to her home after herlong absence, so he only laughed a little ruefully, and said, "Same asever, Mona! Same as ever!"

But, to his surprise, tears welled up into Mona's eyes. "I--I didn't meanto be, " she said tremulously. "I meant to try to be careful--but I--I'vedone nothing but break things ever since I came. You--you'll be wishingyou had never had me home. "

"We shan't do that, I know, " said Lucy kindly. "There's some days whenone seems to break everything one touches--but they don't happen often. Now I'll make the tea. I'm sure we all want some. Come, Peter, and takeyour own chair. There's no moving around the kitchen till we've put youin your corner. Mona, will you sit in the window?"

"I think I ought to stand, " said Mona tragically. "I've sat down once toooften already. "

At which they all burst out laughing, and drew round the table in thehappiest of spirits. 

CHAPTER III. 

From the moment she lay down in her little white bed, Mona had slept thewhole night through. She had risen early the day before--early at least, for her, for her grandmother always got up first, and lighted the fire andswept the kitchen before she called Mona, who got down, as a rule, in timeto sit down to the breakfast her grandmother had got ready for her. 

On this first morning in her home she woke of her own accord, andhalf-waking, half-sleeping, and with not a thought of getting up, sheturned over and was about to snuggle down into the cosy warmth again, when across her drowsy eyes flashed the light from her sunny window. 

"Why, how does the window get over there?" she asked herself, and thenrecollection came pouring over her, and sleepiness vanished, for lifeseemed suddenly very pleasant and interesting, and full of things to do, and see, and think about. 

Presently the clock in the church-tower struck seven. "Only seven!Then I've got another hour before I need get up! But I'll just have alook out to see what it all looks like. How funny it seems to be backagain!" She slipped out of bed and across the floor to draw back thecurtains. Outside the narrow street stretched sunny and deserted. The garden, drenched with dew, was bathed in sunshine too. But it was noton the garden or the street that her eyes lingered, but on the sea beyondthe low stone wall on the opposite side of the way. Deep blue itstretched, its bosom gently heaving, blue as the sky above, and the jewelswith which its bosom was decked flashed and sparkled in the morningsunshine. 

"Oh-h-h!" gasped Mona. "Oh-h-h! I don't know how anyone can ever liveaway from the sea!"

In spite of the sun, though, the morning was cold, with a touch of frostin the air which nipped Mona's toes, and sent her scuttling back to herbed again. She remembered, joyfully, from the old days, that if shepropped herself up a little she could see the sea from her bed. So she lay with her pillow doubled up under her head, and the bedclothesdrawn up to her chin, and gazed and gazed at the sea and sky, untilpresently she was on the sea, in a boat, floating through waves coveredwith diamonds, and the diamonds came pattering against the sides of theboat, as though inviting her to put out her hands and gather them up, and so become rich for ever. Strangely enough, though, she did not heed, or care for them. All she wanted was a big bunch of the forget-me-notswhich grew on the opposite shore, and she rowed and rowed, with might andmain, to reach the forget-me-nots, and she put up a sail and flew beforethe wind, yet no nearer could she get to the patch of blue and green. 

"But I can smell them!" she cried. "I can smell them!" and thenremembered that forget-me-nots had no scent and realised that the scentwas that of the wallflowers growing in her own garden; and suddenly allthe spirit went out of her, for she did not care for what she could reach, but only for the unattainable; and the oars dropped out of her hands, andthe diamonds no longer tapped against the boat, for the boat was still, and Mona sat in it disappointed and sullen. The sun went in too, and nothing was the same but the scent of the flowers. And then, throughher sullen thoughts, the sound of her father's voice came to her. 

"Mona! Mona! It's eight o'clock. Ain't you getting up yet? I want you tosee about the breakfast. Your mother isn't well. "

Mona jumped up with a start, and felt rather cross in consequence. "All right, father, " she called back. "I'll come as soon as I can, "but to herself she added, in an injured tone, "I s'pose this is what I'vebeen had home for! Hard lines, I call it, to have to get up and light thefire the very first morning. "

Her father called through the door again. "The fire's lighted, andburning nicely, and I've put the kettle on. I lighted it before I wentout. I didn't call 'ee then, because I thought I heard you moving. "

Then her father had been up and dressed for an hour or two, and at workalready! A faint sense of shame crossed Mona's mind. "All right, father, " she called back more amiably, "I'll dress as quick as I can. I won't be more than a few minutes. "

"That's a good maid, " with a note of relief in his voice, and then sheheard him go softly down the stairs. 

It always takes one a little longer than usual to dress in a strangeplace, but it took Mona longer than it need have done, for instead ofunpacking her box the night before, and hanging up her frocks, and puttingher belongings neatly away in their places, she had just tumbledeverything over anyhow, to get at her nightdress, and so had left them. It had taken her quite as long to find the nightdress as it would have tolift the things out and put them in their proper places, for the garmentwas almost at the bottom of the box, but Mona did not think of that. Now, though, when she wanted to find her morning frock and apron, she grewimpatient and irritable. "Perhaps if I tip everything out on the floorI'll find the old things that way!" she snapped crossly. "I s'pose Ishan't find them until they've given me all the trouble they can, "and she had actually thrown a few things in every direction, when shesuddenly stopped and sat back on her heels. 

"I've half a mind to put on my best dress again, then I can come and lookfor the old one when I ain't in such a hurry. " The dress--her best one--was lying temptingly on a chair close beside her. She hesitated, looked at it again, and picked it up. As she did so, something fell outof the pocket. It was her purse, the little blue one her granny hadbought for her at Christmas. She picked it up and opened it, and as shedid so the colour rushed over her face. In one of the pockets was theeighteenpence which had been given to her to pay John Darbie with. "I--I suppose I ought to have given it to mother, but it went right out ofmy head. " She completed her dressing in a thoughtful mood, but she didfind, and put on, her old morning dress. "I suppose I had better tellher--about the money. " She put the blue purse in a drawer, however, and tossed in a lot of things on top of it. 

When at last she got downstairs it was already past half-past eight, and the fire was burning low again. "Oh, dear, " she cried, irritably, "how ever am I going to get breakfast with a fire like that and how am Ito know what to get or where anything is kept. I think I might have had aday or two given me to settle down in. I s'pose I'd better get somesticks first and make the fire up. Bother the old thing, it only went outjust to vex me!"

She was feeling hungry and impatient, and out of tune with everything. At Hillside she would have been just sitting down to a comfortable mealwhich had cost her no trouble to get. For the moment she wished she wasback there again. 

As she returned to the kitchen with her hands full of wood, her mothercame down the stairs. She looked very white and ill, and very fragile, but she was fully dressed. 

"I thought you were too bad to get up, " said Mona, unsmilingly. "I was going to bring you up some breakfast as soon as I could, but the silly old fire was gone down----"

"I was afraid it would. That was why I got up. I couldn't be still, I was so fidgeted about your father's breakfast. He'll be home for it ina few minutes. He's had a busy morning, and must want something. "

Mona looked glummer than ever. "I never had to get up early at granny's, "she said in a reproachful voice. "I ain't accustomed to it. I s'pose Ishall have to get so. "

"Did you let your grandmother--did your grandmother come down first andget things ready for you?" asked Lucy, surprised; and something in hervoice, or words, made Mona feel ashamed, instead of proud of the fact. 

"Granny liked getting up early, " she said, excusingly. Lucy did not makeany comment, and Mona felt more ashamed than if she had. 

"Hasn't father had his breakfast yet?" she asked presently. "He alwaysused to come home for it at eight. "

"He did to-day, but you see there wasn't any. The fire wasn't lightedeven. He thought you were dressing, and he wouldn't let me get up. When he'd lighted the fire he went off to work again. He's painting hisboat, and he said he'd finish giving her her first coat before he'd stopagain; then she could be drying. I'll manage better another morning. I daresay I'll feel better to-morrow. "

Lucy did look very unwell, and Mona's heart was touched. "I wish fatherhad told me earlier, " she said in a less grumbling tone. "I was awake atseven, and got up and looked out of the window. I never thought ofdressing then, it seemed so early, and I didn't hear father moving. "

"Never mind, dear, we will manage better another time. It's nice havingyou home, Mona; the house seems so much more cheerful. You will be agreat comfort to us, I know. "

Mona's ill-temper vanished. "I do want to be, " she said shyly, "and I amglad to be home. Oh, mother, it was lovely to see the sea again. I felt--oh, I can't tell you how I felt when I first caught a glimpse ofit. I don't know how ever I stayed away so long. "

Lucy laughed ruefully. "I wish I loved it like that, " she said, "but Ican't make myself like it even. It always makes me feel miserable. "

A heavy step was heard on the cobbled path outside, and for a moment a bigbody cut off the flood of sunshine pouring in at the doorway. "Is breakfast ready?" demanded Peter Carne's loud, good-tempered voice. "Hullo, Lucy! Then you got up, after all! Well--of all the obstinatewomen!"

Lucy smiled up at him bravely. "Yes, I've got down to breakfast. I thought I'd rather have it down here with company than upstairs alone. Isn't it nice having Mona home, father?"

Peter laughed. "I ain't going to begin by spoiling the little maid withflattery, but yet, 'tis very, " and he beamed good-naturedly on both. "Now, then, let's begin. I'm as hungry as a hunter. "

By that time the cloth was laid, a dish of fried bacon and bread waskeeping hot in the oven, and smelling most appetisingly to hungry folk, and the kettle was about to boil over. Through the open doorway thesunshine and the scent of wallflowers poured in. 

"Them there wallflowers beat anything I ever came across for smell, "remarked Peter as he finished his second cup of tea. 

"I dreamed about wallflowers, " said Mona, "and I seemed to smell themquite strong, " and she told them her dream--at least a part of it. She left out about the forget-me-nots that she rowed and rowed to try andget. She could not have told why she left out that part, but already avague thought had come to her--one that she was ashamed of, even though itwas so vague, and it had to do with forget-me-nots. 

All the time she had been helping about the breakfast, and all the timeafter, when she and her stepmother were alone again, she kept saying toherself, "Shall I give her the money, shall I keep it?" and her heartwould thrill, and then sink, and inside her she kept saying, "There is noharm in it?--It is all the same in the end. " And then, almost beforeshe knew what she was doing, she had taken the easy, crooked, downhillpath, with its rocks and thorns so cleverly hidden. 

"Mona, haven't you got any print frocks for mornings, and nice aprons?"

Mona's thoughts came back suddenly from "Shall I? Shall I not?" and theeyes with which she looked at her mother were half shamed, halffrightened. "Any--any what?" she stuttered. 

"Nice morning aprons and washing frocks? I don't like to see shabby, soiled ones, even for only doing work in. "

"I hadn't thought about it, " said Mona, with more interest. "What elsecan one wear? I nearly put on my best one, but I thought I hadn'tbetter. "

"Oh, no, not your best. "

"Well, what else is there to wear? Do you always have a print one likeyou've got on now?"

"Yes, and big aprons, and sleeves. Then one can tell when they aredirty. "

"Oh, I thought you put on that 'cause you were wearing out what you'd gotleft over. You were in service, weren't you, before you married father?"

"Yes. "

"I haven't got any print dresses. I haven't even got a white one. I've two aprons like this, " holding out a fanciful thing trimmed withlace. "That's all, and I never saw any sleeves; I don't know what theyare like. "

"I'll have to get you some as soon as father has his next big haul. You'd like to wear nice clean prints, if you'd got them, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes!" eagerly. But after a moment she added: "I do want a summerhat, though, and I don't s'pose I could have both?" Her eyes sought hermother's face anxiously. Lucy looked grave and a little troubled. "Wasn't that your summer hat that you had on yesterday? It was a verypretty one. I'm so fond of wreaths of daisies and grasses, aren't you?"

"Yes--I was--I'm tired of them now. I wore that hat a lot last summer. "

"Did you? Well, you kept it very nicely. I thought it was a new one, itlooked so fresh and pretty. "

"I'd like to have one trimmed with forget-me-nots this year, " Mona went onhurriedly, paying no heed to her mother's last remarks. 

"They are very pretty, " agreed Lucy, absently. In her mind she waswondering how she could find the money for all these different things. 

"I've got eighteenpence, " broke in Mona, and the plunge was taken. She was keeping the eighteen-pence, though she knew it belonged either toher granny or to Lucy. As soon as the words were spoken she almost wishedthem back again, but it was too late, and she went on her downhill way. 

"Mother, if you'll get me the hat, I'll buy the wreath myself. They'vegot some lovely ones down at Tamlin's for one and five three. There aresome at one and 'leven three, but that's sixpence more, and I haven't gotenough. "

"Very well, dear, we'll think about it. It's early yet for summer hats. "She was trying to think of things she could do without, that Mona mighthave her hat. If she had been her own child, she would have told herplainly that she did not need, and could not have a new one, but it wasnot easy--as things were--to do that. 

Mona's heart leaped with joy. Though she had known Lucy such a littlewhile, she somehow felt that she could trust her not to forget. That when she said she would think about a thing, she would think aboutit, and already she saw with her mind's eye, the longed-for hat, the bluewreath, and the bow of ribbon, and her face beamed with happiness. 

"I can do without the aprons and the print frocks, " she said, in thegenerosity of her heart, though it gave her a wrench. But Lucy would nothear of that. She had her own opinion about the grubby-looking blueserge, and the fancy apron, which were considered 'good enough' formornings. 

"No, dear, you need them more than you need the hat. If ever anyoneshould be clean it's when one is making beds, and cooking, and doing allthat sort of thing, I think, don't you?"

Mona had never given the subject a thought before. In fact, she had doneso little work while with her grandmother, and when she 'kept house'herself had cared so little about appearance or cleanliness, or anything, that it had never occurred to her that such things mattered. But now thather stepmother appealed to her in this way she felt suddenly a sense ofimportance and a glow of interest. 

"Oh, yes! and I'll put my hair up, and always have on a nice white apronand a collar; they do look so pretty over pink frocks, don't they?"

"Yes, and I must teach you how to wash and get them up. "

"Oh!" Mona's interest grew suddenly lukewarm. "I hate washing andironing, don't you, mother?"

"I like other kinds of work better, perhaps. I think I should like thewashing if I didn't get so tired with it. I don't seem to have thestrength to do it as I want it done. It is lovely, though, to see thingsgrowing clean under one's hand, isn't it?"

But Mona had never learnt to take pride in her work. "I don't know, "she answered indifferently. "I should never have things that werealways wanting washing. "

Lucy rose to go about her morning's work. "Oh, come now, " she said, smiling, "I can't believe that. Don't you think your little room looksprettier with the white vallance and quilt and the frill across the windowthan it would without?"

"Oh, yes!" Mona agreed enthusiastically. "But then I didn't have to washthem and iron them. "

"Well, I had to, and I enjoyed it, because I was thinking how nice theywould make your room look, and how pleased you would be. "

"I don't see that. If you were doing them for yourself, of course, you'dbe pleased, but I can't see why anyone should be pleased about what otherpeople may like. "

"Oh, Mona! can't you?" Lucy looked amazed. "Haven't you ever heard thesaying, 'there is more pleasure in giving than in receiving'?"

"Yes, I think I've heard it, " said Mona, flippantly, "but I never saw anysense in it. There's lots of things said that ain't a bit true. "

"This is true enough, " said Lucy quietly, "and I hope you'll find it sofor yourself, or you will miss half the pleasure in life. "

"Well, I don't believe in any of those old sayings, " retorted Mona, rising too. "Anyway, receiving's good enough for me!" and she laughedboisterously, thinking she had said something new and funny. 

A little cloud rested for a moment on Lucy's face, but only for a moment. "It isn't nice to hear you speak like that, Mona, " she said quietly, a note of pain in her voice, "but I can't make myself believe yet that youare as selfish as you make out. I believe, " looking across at herstepdaughter with kindly, smiling eyes, "that you've got as warm a heartas anybody, really. "

And at the words and the look all the flippant, silly don't-careishnessdied out of Mona's thoughts and manner. 

Yet, presently, when in her own little room again, she opened her littleblue purse and looked in it, a painful doubt arose in her mind. It wasnice to be considered good-hearted, but was she really so?And unselfish? "If I was, wouldn't I make my last year's hat do?Wouldn't I give back the eighteenpence?" What tiresome questions theywere to come poking and pushing forward so persistently. Anyhow, hermother knew now that she wanted a hat, and she knew that she had themoney, and that she was going to spend it on herself--and yet she hadcalled her unselfish!

And downstairs, Lucy, with an anxious face, and a weight at her heart, wasthinking to herself, "If Mona had lived much longer the idle, selfish lifeshe has been living, her character would have been ruined, and there is somuch that is good in her! Poor child, poor Mona! She has never had afair chance yet to learn to show the best side of her, and I doubt if I'mthe one to teach her. I couldn't be hard with her if I tried, and beingher stepmother will make things more difficult for me than for most. I couldn't live in the house with strife. I must try other means, and, "she added softly, "ask God to help me. "

CHAPTER IV. 

For a while, after that talk with her mother, Mona worked with a will. She swept, and scrubbed, and polished the stove and the windows and helpedwith the washing and ironing, until Lucy laughingly declared there wouldsoon be nothing left for her to do. 

"That's just what I want, " declared Mona. "I want you not to haveanything to do. Perhaps I can't manage the cooking yet, but I'll learn toin time. " Excited by the novelty and change, and buoyed up by theprospect of her new hat, and new frocks and aprons too, she felt she coulddo anything, and could not do enough in return for all that was to be donefor her, and, when Mona made up her mind to work, there were few who couldoutdo her. She would go on until she was ready to drop. 

As the spring days grew warmer, she would get so exhausted that Lucysometimes had to interfere peremptorily, and make her stop. "Now you sitright down there, out of the draught, and don't you move a foot till Igive you leave. I will get you a nice cup of tea, and one of my newtarts; they're just this minute ready to come out of the oven. "

A straight screen, reaching from floor to ceiling, stood at one side ofthe door, to keep off some of the draught and to give some little privacyto those who used the kitchen. Mona dried her hands and slippedgratefully into the chair that stood between the screen and the end of thetable. 

"Oh, mother, this is nice, " she sighed, her face radiant, though hershoulders drooped a little with tiredness. 

"Isn't it beautiful? I love these sunny, quiet afternoons, wheneverything is peaceful, and the sea quite calm. " Her eyes looked beyondthe little kitchen to the steep, sunny street outside, and beyond thatagain to where the blue sea heaved and glittered in the distance. The little window, as well as the door, stood wide open, letting in thescent of the sun-warmed wallflowers, and box, and boy's love. The bees buzzed contentedly over the beds. One made his way in to Lucy'splants in the window. 

"I seem to smell the sea even through the scent of the flowers, "said Lucy. 

"I am sure I do. I can't think how people can choose to live inland, canyou, mother?"

"I don't suppose they choose, they just live where God has seen fit toplace them--where their work lies. "

"Well, I hope my work will always be in some place near the sea, " saidMona decidedly. "I don't think I could live away from it. "

Lucy smiled. "I think you could, dear, if you made up your mind to it!I am sure you are not a coward. "

"I don't see that it has got anything to do with being a coward or not, "objected Mona. 

"But indeed it has. If people can't face things they don't like withoutgrumbling all the time they are cowards. It is as cruel and cowardly tokeep on grumbling and complaining about what you don't like as it is braveto face it and act so that people never guess what your real feelings are. Think of my mother now. She loved living in a town, with all that thereis to see and hear and interest one, and, above all, she loved London. It was home to her, and every other place was exile. Yet when, after theyhad been married a couple of years, her husband made up his mind to liveright away in the country, she never grumbled, though she must have feltlonely and miserable many a time. Her mother, and all belonging to her, lived in London, and I know she had a perfect dread of the country. She was afraid of the loneliness. Then my father tried his hand atfarming and lost all his savings, and after that there was never a pennyfor anything but the barest of food and clothing, and sometimes not enougheven for that. Well, I am quite sure that no one ever heard a word ofcomplaint from mother's lips, and when poor father reproached himself, as he did very often, with having brought ruin on her, she'd say, 'Tom, I married you for better or worse, for richer or poorer. I didn'tmarry you on condition you stayed always in one place and earned so much aweek. '"

"Mother didn't think she was being brave by always keeping a cheerful faceand a happy heart--but father did, and I do, now. I understand thingsbetter than I did. I can see there's ever so much more bravery in denyingyourself day after day what you want, and bearing willingly what you don'tlike, than there is in doing some big deed that you carry through on thespur of the moment. "

Mona sat silent, gazing out across the flowers in the window to the skybeyond. "There's ever so much more bravery in denying yourself what youwant. " The words rang in her head most annoyingly. Could Lucy havespoken them on purpose? No, Mona honestly did not think that, but shewished she had not uttered them. She tried to think of something else, and, unconsciously, her mother helped her. 

"I want to go to see mother on Monday or Tuesday, if I can. Do you thinkyou'll mind being left here alone for a few hours?"

Mona looked round at her with a smile. "Why, of course not! I used tospend hours here alone. I'll find plenty to do while you're gone. I'll write to granny, for one thing. I promised I would. I could take upsome of the weeds in the garden, too. "

She was eager to do something for her stepmother, so that she herselfwould feel more easy in her mind about the one thing she could not summonup courage to do. 

"Yes, if you'll do a little weeding it'll be fine. I'm ashamed to see ourpath, and the wallflowers are nearly choked, but I daren't do it. I can't stoop so long. "

On Sunday Mona went to Sunday school for the first time, and was not alittle pleased to find that her last year's hat, with the daisy wreath, was prettier than any other hat there. With every admiring glance shecaught directed at it her spirits rose. She loved to feel that she wasadmired and envied. It never entered her head that she made some of thechildren feel mortified and discontented with their own things. 

"If they think such a lot of this one, I wonder what they'll think of mehaving another new one soon!" To conceal the elation in her face, she bent over her books, pretending to be absorbed in the lesson. Miss Lester, the teacher, looked at her now and again with grave, questioning eyes. She was wondering anxiously if this little stranger wasgoing to bring to an end the peace and contentment of the class. "Is she going to make my poor children realise how poor and shabby theirclothes are, and fill their heads with thoughts of dress?" She saidnothing aloud, however. She was only a little kinder, perhaps, to themost shabby of them all. 

Mona, who had been quite conscious of her teacher's glances, never doubtedbut that they were glances of admiration, and was, in consequence, extremely pleased. She returned home quite elated by her Sundayafternoon's experiences. 

The next day, at about eleven, Lucy started on her three mile walk to hermother's. 

"Isn't it too far for you?" asked Mona, struck anew by her stepmother'sfragile appearance. "Hadn't you better put it off till you're stronger?"

But Lucy shook her head. "Oh, no, I shall manage it. If I go to-day Ishall be able to have a lift home in Mr. Lobb's cart. It's his day. So I shall only have three miles to walk, and I do want to see mother. She has been so bad again. "

Mona did not try any more to stop her, but bustled around helping her toget ready. "If you hadn't been going to drive back, I'd have come to meetyou. Never mind, I expect I'll be very busy, " and she smiled to herselfat the thought of all she was going to do, and of the nice clean kitchenand tempting meal she would have ready by the time Mr. Lobb's cartdeposited Lucy at the door again. 

"Now, don't do too much, and tire yourself out, dear, " said Lucy, warningly. "There isn't really much that needs doing, " but Mona smiledknowingly. 

As soon as Lucy had really started and was out of sight, she washed andput away the few cups and plates, and swept up the hearth. Then, gettinga little garden fork and an old mat, she sallied forth to the garden. There certainly were a good many weeds in the path, and, as the ground wastrodden hard, they were not easy to remove. Those in the flower beds weremuch easier. 

"I'll do the beds first, " thought Mona. "After all, that's the right wayto begin. " So she dug away busily for some time, taking great care to digdeep, and lift the roots right out. "While I am about it, I may as wellturn all the earth over to make it nice and soft for the flowers. I don't know how they ever manage to grow in such hard, caked old stuff, poor little things. "

Here and there a 'poor little thing' came up root and all, as well as theweed, or instead of it, but Mona quickly put it back again, and here andthere one had its roots torn away and loosened. In fact, most of Lucy'splants found themselves wrenched from the cool, moist earth they loved, and their hold on life gone. Presently Mona came to a large patch offorget-me-nots. The flowers were not yet out, but there was plenty ofpromise for by and by. It was not, though, the promise of buds, nor theplant itself which caused Mona to cease her work suddenly, and sit back onher heels, lost in thought. 

"I've a good mind to go down now this minute and get it, " she exclaimedeagerly, "while mother's away. Buying a hat won't seem much if she hasn'tgot to buy the trimmings. And--and if--if I don't get the wreath, Mr. Tamlin may--may sell it before mother goes there. "

This fear made her spring from her knees. Without any further hesitation, she rushed, into the house, washed and tidied herself, got her blue pursefrom the drawer in which it was still hidden, and in ten minutes from themoment the thought first struck her she was hurrying down the street, leaving the mat and the fork where she had been using them. But she couldthink of nothing. Indeed, she could scarcely breathe for excitement untilshe reached Tamlin's shop, and, to her enormous relief, saw the bluewreaths still hanging there. 

"Of course, it is much the best way to buy it now and take it home, "Mona argued with herself. "It will only get dirty and faded where it is. "

She felt a little nervous at entering the big shop by herself, especiallyas she seemed to be the only customer, and the attendants had no one elseat whom to stare. She went up to the one who had the pleasantest smileand looked the least grand of them all. 

"Forget-me-nots? Oh, yes, dear, we have some lovely flowers this season, all new in. Perhaps you'd prefer roses. We have some beautiful roses, pink, red, yellow, and white ones--and wreaths, we have some sweetwreaths, moss and rose buds, and sweet peas and grasses. " She proceededto drag out great boxes full of roses of all shapes and kinds. Mona looked at them without interest. "No, thank you I wantforget-me-nots. "

"Oh, well, there's no harm in looking at the others, is there? I've gotsome sweet marg'rites too. I'll show you. P'raps you'll change your mindwhen you see them. Blue ties you so, doesn't it?"

"I've got daisies on a hat already. I'm tired of them. I want somethingdifferent. "

"Of course, we all like a change, don't we? I'll show you a wreath--perfectly sweet it is, apple-blossom and leaves; it might be real, it's soperfect. " And away she went again for another box. 

Mona felt as though her eighteenpence was shrivelling smaller and smaller. It seemed such a ridiculously small sum to have come shopping with, andshe wished she had never done so. The girl dropped a huge box on thecounter, and whipped the cover off. She was panting a little from theweight of it. Mona longed to sink out of sight, she was so ashamed of thetrouble she was giving, and only eighteenpence to spend after all!

"There, isn't that sweet, and only three and eleven three. "

But Mona was by this time feeling so ashamed and bothered anduncomfortable, she would not bring herself to look at the flowers. "Yes, thank you, it's very pretty, but--but--it's too dear--and--I wantforget-me-nots. "

Then, summoning up all the courage she had left, "You've got some wreathsfor one and fivepence three-farthings; it's one of those I want. "

The girl's face changed, and her manner too. "Oh, it's one of the cheapwreaths you want, like we've got in the window, " and from another box shedragged out one of the kind Mona had gazed at so longingly, and, withouthanding it to her to look at, popped it into a bag, screwed up the top, and pushed it across the counter. "One and five three, " she snappedrudely, and, while Mona was extracting her eighteenpence from her purse, she turned to another attendant who had been standing looking on andlistening all the time. 

"Miss Jones, dear, will you help me put all these boxes away. "

Mona noticed the sneer in her voice, the glances the two exchanged. She saw, too, Miss Jones's pitying smile and toss of her head, and shewalked out of the shop with burning cheeks and a bursting heart. She longed passionately to throw down the wreath she carried and trampleon it--and as for Tamlin's shop! She felt that nothing would ever induceher to set foot inside it again. 

Poor Mona, as she hurried up the street with her longed-for treasure--nowdetestable in her eyes--all the sunshine and happiness seemed to have goneout of her days. She went along quickly, with her head down. She feltshe did not want to see or speak to anyone just then. She hurried throughthe garden, where the patch of newly-turned earth was already drying underthe kiss of the sun, and the wallflowers were beginning to droop, but shesaw nothing of it all. She only wanted to get inside and shut and boltthe door, and be alone with herself and her anger. 

"There!" she cried passionately, flinging the wreath across the kitchen, "take that! I hate you--I hate the sight of you!" She would have cried, but that she had made up her mind that she would not. "I'll never wearthe hateful thing--I couldn't! If I was to meet that girl when I'd got iton I--I'd never get over it! And there's all my money gone; wasted, and--and----" At last the tears did come, in spite of her, and Mona's heartfelt relieved. 

She picked out the paper bag from inside the fender, and, carrying itupstairs, thrust it inside the lid of her box. "There! and I hope I'llnever see the old thing ever any more, and then, p'raps, in time I'llforget all about it. "

As she went down the stairs again to the kitchen she remembered that herfather would be home in a few minutes to his dinner, and that she had toboil some potatoes. "Oh, dear--I wish--I wish----" But what was the useof wishing! She had the forget-me-nots she had so longed for--and whatwas the result!

"I'll never, never wish for anything again, " she thought ruefully, "but I suppose that wishing you'd got something, and wishing youhadn't forgot something, are two different things, though both make youfeel miserable, " she added gloomily. 

For a moment she sat, overwhelmed by all that she had done and had leftundone. The emptiness and silence of the house brought to her a sense ofloneliness. The street outside was empty and silent too, except for twoold women who walked by with heavy, dragging steps. One of the two wastalking in a patient, pathetic voice, but loudly, for her companion wasdeaf. 

"There's no cure for trouble like work, I know that. I've had more'n myshare of trouble, and if it hadn't been that I'd got the children to carefor, and my work cut out to get 'em bread to eat, I'd have give in;I couldn't have borne all I've had to bear----"

The words reached Mona distinctly through the silence. She rose to herfeet. "P'raps work'll help me to bear mine, " she thought bitterly. "When my man and my two boys was drowned that winter, I'd have gone out ofmy mind if I hadn't had to work to keep a home for the others----"The voices died away in the distance, and Mona's bitterness died away too. 

"Her man, and her two boys--three of them dead, all drowned in one day--oh, how awful! How awful!" Mona's face blanched at the thought of thetragedy. The very calmness with which it was told made it seem worse, more real, more inevitable. Even the sunshine and peace about her made itseem more awful. Compared with such a trouble, her own was too paltry. It was not a trouble at all. She felt ashamed of herself for the fuss shehad been making, and without more ado she bustled round to such goodpurpose that when her father returned to his meal she had it all cookedand ready to put on the table. 

"That's a good maid, " he said, encouragingly. "Why, you've grown areg'lar handy little woman. You'll be a grand help to your poor mother. "

"I do want to be, " said Mona, but she did not feel as confident about itas her father did. "I'm going to have everything ready for her by thetime she gets home. "

"That's right, I shan't be home till morning, most likely, so you'll haveto take care of her. She'll be fairly tired out, what with walking threemiles in the sun, and then being rattled about in Mr. Lobb's old cart. The roads ain't fit for a horse to travel over. "

"I should think she'd be here about six, shouldn't she, father?"

"Yes, that's about the old man's time, but there's no reckoning on him forcertain. He may have to go a mile or more out of his way, just for onecustomer. "

Apparently that was what he had to do that day, for six came and went, andseven o'clock had struck, and darkness had fallen before the cart drew upat Cliff Cottage, and Lucy clambered stiffly down from her hard, uncomfortable seat. 

She was tired out and chilly, but at the sound of the wheels the cottagedoor was flung open, letting out a wide stream of cheerfulness, which madeher heart glow and drove her weariness away. Inside, the home all wasneat and cosy, the fire burned brightly, and the table was laid readyfor a meal. Lucy drew a deep breath of happiness and relief. 

"Oh, it is nice to get home again, " she sighed contentedly, "and most ofall to find someone waiting for you, Mona dear. "

And Mona's heart danced with pleasure and happy pride. She felt wellrepaid for all she had done. 

CHAPTER V. 

When Mona woke the next morning she felt vaguely that something wasmissing. "Why it's the smell of the wallflowers!" she cried, after lyingfor some minutes wondering what it could be. But in her new desire to getdressed and downstairs early she did not give the matter another thought. 

Lucy, coming down later, stepped to the door for a moment to breathe inthe sunshine and sweet morning air. "Oh, " she cried, and her voice rangout sharply, full of dismay, "Oh, Mona, come quick. Whatever has happenedto our wallflowers! Why, look at them! They are all dead! Oh, the poorthings! Someone must have pulled them up in sheer wickedness! Isn't itcruel? Isn't it shameful!"

Mona, rushing to the door to look, found Lucy on her knees by the dyingplants, the tears dropping from her eyes. Only yesterday they were sohappy and so beautiful, a rich carpet of brown, gold, tawny, and crimson, all glowing in the sunshine, and filling the air with their gloriousscent--and now! Oh, it was pitiful, pitiful. 

"I'll fill a tub with water and plunge them all in, " cried Lucy, frantically collecting her poor favourites--then suddenly she droppedthem. "No, no, I won't, I'll bury them out of sight. I could never givethem new life. Oh, who could have been so wicked?"

Mona was standing beside her, white-faced and silent. At her mother'slast question, she opened her lips for the first time. "I--I did it, "she gasped in a horrified voice. "I--didn't know, I must have done itwhen I was weeding. Oh, mother, I am so sorry. What can I do--oh, what can I do!"

"You! Oh, Mona!" But at the sight of Mona's distress Lucy forgot herown. 

"Never mind. It can't be helped. 'Twas an accident, of course, and noone can prevent accidents. Don't fret about it, dear. Of course, you wouldn't have hurt them if you'd known what you were doing!"

But her words failed to comfort Mona, for in her inmost heart she knewthat she should have known better, that she could have helped it. It was just carelessness again. 

"They wouldn't have lasted more than a week or two longer, I expect, "added Lucy, consolingly, trying to comfort herself as well as Mona. "Now, we'll get this bed ready for the ten-weeks stocks. It will do theground good to rest a bit. I daresay the stocks will be all the finer forit later on. " But still Mona was not consoled. 

"If I hadn't run away and left them to go and buy that hateful wreath, "she was thinking. "If only I had remembered to press the earth tightround them again--if--if only I'd been more careful when I was weeding, and--if, if, if! It's all ifs with me!" Aloud, she said bitterly, "I only seem to do harm to everything I touch. I'd better give up!If I don't do anything, p'raps I shan't do mischief. "

Lucy laughed. "Poor old Paddy, " she cried. "Why, you couldn't live andnot do anything. Every minute of your life you are doing something, andwhen you are doing what you call 'nothing' you will be doing mischief, if it's only in setting a bad example. And you can work splendidly if youlike, Mona, and you _do_ like, I know. I shan't forget for a long whilehow nice you'd got everything by the time I came home last night, and howearly you got up this morning. "

Mona's face brightened. 

"You've got to learn to think, that's all, dear; and to remember to finishoff one thing before you leave it to go to another. It's just the want ofthat that lies at the root of most of your trouble. "

A sound of many feet hurrying along the street and of shouting voices madeLucy break off suddenly, and sent them both running to the gate. 

"Boats are in sight, missis. Fine catch!" called one and another as theyhurried along. 

Lucy and Mona looked at each other with glad relief in their eyes. There had been no real cause for anxiety because the little fishing fleethad not been home at dawn, yet now they knew that they had been a littlebit anxious, Lucy especially, and their pleasure was all the greater. For a moment Mona, in her excitement, was for following the rest to thequay where the fish would be landed. It was so exciting, such fun, to bein all the bustle of the unloading, and the selling--and to know that fora time, at any rate, money would not be scarce, and rent and food andfiring would be secure. 

Mona loved nothing better than such mornings as this--but her first stepwas her last. "I won't remember 'too late' this time, " she said toherself determinedly, and turning, she made her way quickly into thehouse. There would be more than enough to do to get ready. There wouldbe hot water, dry clothes, and a hot breakfast to get for the tired, cold, famished father. 

"Now you sit down, mother, and stoke the fire, I'll see to the rest, " andfor the next hour she flew around, doing one thing after another, and asdeftly as a woman. She was so busy and so happy she forgot all about thebeach and the busy scene there, the excitement, and the fun. 

But before Lucy did any 'stoking' she went out with a rake and smoothedover the rough earth of the empty wallflower bed. "If it's looking tidy, perhaps he won't notice anything's wrong when he first comes home, "she thought. "When he's less tired he'll be able to bear thedisappointment better. " She knew that if he missed his flowers one of hischief pleasures in his homecoming would be gone, and she almost dreaded tohear the sound of his footsteps because of the disappointment in store forhim. Because she could not bear to see it, she stayed in the kitchen, and only Mona went out to meet him. Lucy heard his loved voice, hoarseand tired, but cheerful still. "Hullo, my girl!" he cried, "how's mother, and how 'ave 'ee got on? I was 'fraid she'd be troubling. Hullo! Why, what's happened to our wallflowers?"

At the sound of the dismay in his voice, Lucy had to go out. "Poor Mona, "she thought, "it's hard on her! Why, father!" she cried brightly, standing in the doorway with a glad face and happy welcome. "We're soglad to see you at last. Make haste in, you must be tired to death, andcold through and through. Mona's got everything ready for you, as nice ascan be. She's worked hard since we heard the boats were come. We've allgot good appetites for our breakfast, I guess. "

Then, in his pleasure at seeing his wife and child again, Peter Carneforgot all about his flowers. Putting his arms around them both, he gavethem each a hearty kiss, and all went in together. "I ain't hardly fitto, " he said, laughing, "but you're looking as fresh and sweet as twodaisies this morning. "

Diving his hand deep into his pocket, he drew out a handful of gold andsilver. "Here, mother, here's something you'll be glad of! Now, Mona, mygirl, " as he dropped into his arm-chair, "where's my old slippers?"

Mona picked them up from the fender, where they had been warming, and, kneeling down, she pulled off his heavy boots. Once more she was filledwith the feeling that if she could only do something to make up for theharm she had done she would not feel so bad. 

"Thank'ee, little maid. Oh, it's good to be home again!" He leaned backand stretched his tired limbs with a sigh of deep content. "But I mustn'tstop here, I must go and have a wash, and change into dry things before Ihave my breakfast. I can tell you, I'm more than a bit hungry. When I'vehad it I've got to go down and clean out the boat. "

"Oh, not till you've had a few hours' sleep, " coaxed Lucy. "You must havesome rest, father. I've a good mind to turn the key on you. "

Her husband laughed too. "There's no need for locks and keys to-day, "he said, ruefully. "If I was to start out I believe I'd have to lie downin the road and have a nap before I got to the bottom of the street. I'll feel better when I've had a wash. "

As he stumbled out of the kitchen Lucy picked up the coins lying on thetable, and put them in a little locked box in the cupboard. Mona, comingback into the kitchen from putting her father's sea-boots away, saw thatthere seemed to be quite a large sum. 

"Shall I have my new hat?" she wondered eagerly. "There's plenty of moneynow. " But Lucy only said, "I'll have to get wool to make some newstockings for your father, and a jersey, and I'll have to go to Baymouthto get it. Mr. Tamlin doesn't keep the right sort. Can you knitstockings, Mona?"

"Ye--es, but I hate----" She drew herself up sharply. "Yes, I can, butI'd rather scrub, or sweep, or--or anything. "

"Never mind, I'll make them. I'm fond of all that kind of work. I'll have to be quick about the jersey, for I see that one he's got on hasa great hole in the elbow, and he's only got his best one besides. I'd better go to Baymouth on Wednesday. It won't do to put it off. "

"I wish I could take you with me, " she said to Mona regretfully when theWednesday came, and she was getting ready to start. "I would, only yourfather thinks he'll be back about tea-time, and he'll need a hot meal whenhe comes. Never mind, dear, you shall go next time. "

"Oh--h--that's all right. " Mona tried to speak cheerfully, but neitherface nor voice looked or sounded all right! The thought uppermost in hermind was that there was no chance of her having her new hat. Her mothercould not get that unless she was there to try it on. 

She saw her mother off, and she did try to be pleasant, but she could nothelp a little aggrieved feeling at her heart. 

"Granny would have bought me one before now, " she said to herself. She did really want not to have such thoughts. She still felt mean anduncomfortable about the wreath, and in her heart she knew that herstepmother was kinder to her than she deserved. 

When she had done the few things she had to do, and had had her dinner, and changed her frock, she went out into the garden. It would be lesslonely there, she thought, and she could weed the path a little. She would never touch one of the flower beds again! Before she had beenout there long, Millie Higgins came down the hill. At the sight of Mona, Millie drew up. "So you ain't gone to Baymouth too?" she said, leaningover the low stone wall, and evidently prepared for a talk. "I saw yourmother starting off. Why didn't she take you with her? You'd have likedto have gone, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, " Mona admitted. 

"Well, why didn't you?"

"Somebody had to be here to look after father. He'll be home beforemother gets back. "

Millie Higgins snorted sarcastically. "Very nice for some people to beable to go off and enjoy themselves and leave others to look after thingsfor them! If I were you I'd say I'd like to go too. "

Mona resented Millie's tone. A sense of fairness rose within her too. "If I'd said I wanted to go, I daresay I could have gone, " she retortedcoldly. "I'm going another time. "

"Oh, are you? Well, that's all right as long as you are satisfied, "meaningly. "Good-bye, " and with a nod Millie took herself off. But before she had gone more than a few paces she was back again. 

"Come on out and play for a bit, won't you?"

"I'd like to, " Mona hesitated, "but I don't know for certain what timefather'll get back. "

"Well, I do! I know they won't be home yet awhile. They'll wait till thetide serves. Come along, Mona, you might as well come out and play forhalf an hour as stick moping here. You might spend all your life waitingabout for the old boats to come in, and never have a bit of pleasure ifyou don't take it when you can. We'll go down to the quay, then you'll beable to see the boats coming. After they're in sight there'll be heaps oftime to run home and get things ready. "

The temptation was great, too great. Mona loved the quay, and the lifeand cheerfulness there. Towards evening all the children in the placecongregated there, playing 'Last touch, ' 'Hop-Scotch, ' and all the rest ofthe games they loved, to a chorus of shouts, and screams, and laughter. Then there was the sea to look at too, so beautiful and grand, andawe-inspiring in the fading light. Oh, how dearly she loved it all!

In her ears Millie's words still rang: "You might spend all your lifewaiting about for the old boats, and never have a bit of pleasure, if youdon't take it when you can. "

"Wait a minute, " she said eagerly, "I'll just put some coal on the fireand get my hat. "

She banked up a good fire, unhung her hat, and, pulling the door afterher, ran out to Millie again, "I'm ready now, " she said excitedly. 

When they arrived at the quay they received a very warm welcome; they werejust in time to take part in a game of 'Prisoners. ' After that they hadone of 'Tip, ' and one or two of 'Hop-Scotch, ' then 'Prisoners' again; andhow many more Mona could never remember, for she had lost count of time, and everything but the fun, until she was suddenly brought to her sensesby a man's voice saying, "Well, it's time they were in, the clock struckseven ten minutes agone. "

"Seven!" Mona was thunderstruck. "Did you say seven?" she gasped, andscarcely waiting for an answer she took to her heels and tore up thestreet to her home. Her mind was full of troubled thoughts. The firewould be out, the house all in darkness. She had only pulled the frontdoor behind her, she had not locked it. Oh, dear! what a number of thingsshe had left undone! What a muddle she had made of things. When, as shedrew near the house, she saw a light shining from the kitchen window, herheart sank lower than ever it had done before. 

"Father must have come! Oh! and me not there, and--and nothing ready. Oh, I wouldn't have had it happen for anything. " She rushed up to thehouse so fast and burst into the kitchen so violently that her mother, whowas sitting in her chair, apparently lost in thought, sprang up in alarm. 

"Oh, Mona! it's you! You frightened me so, child. Where's your father, "she asked anxiously. "Haven't you seen him?"

"No, he hasn't come yet. "

Lucy's face grew as white as a lily. Her eyes were full of terror, whichalways haunted her. "P'raps he came home while you were out, and went outagain when he found the house empty. "

"He couldn't. I've been on the quay all the time. The boats couldn'thave come in without my seeing them. I was waiting for him. Everybodywas saying how late they were. They couldn't think why. "

"Yes--they are dreadfully late--but I--I didn't think you'd have gone outand left the house while I was away, " said Lucy with gentle reproach. "But, as you did, you should have locked the door behind you. I s'poseMr. King called before you left?"

"He hasn't been, " faltered Mona, her heart giving a great throb. She hadentirely forgotten that the landlord's agent was coming for his rent thatafternoon. "The money's on the dresser. I put it there. "

"Is it? I couldn't see it. I looked for it at once when I found the doorwide open and nobody here. "

"Open! I shut it after me. I didn't lock it, but I pulled the door fastafter me. You can't have looked in the right place, mother. I put it bythe brown jug. " And, never doubting but that her mother had overlookedit, Mona searched the dressers herself. But there was no money on them, not even a farthing for the baker. "But I put it there! I put it theremyself!" she kept repeating more and more frantically. She got upon achair and searched every inch of every shelf, and turned every jug and cupupside down. "It _must_ be somewhere. "

"Yes, somewhere! But it isn't here, and it isn't in Mr. King's pocket. "Poor Lucy sank back in her chair looking ready to faint. Five shillingsmeant much to her. It was so horrible, too, to feel that a thief had beenin, and had perhaps gone all over the house. Who could say what more hehad taken, or what mischief he had done. 

She was disappointed also in her trust in Mona, and she was tired andfaint from want of food. All her pleasure in her day and in herhomecoming was gone, changed to worry and weariness and disappointment. 

"But who can have been so wicked as to take it!" cried Mona passionately. "Nobody had any right to open our door and come into our house. It's hard to think one can't go out for a few minutes but what somebodymust come and act dishonest----"

"We can't talk about others not doing right if we don't do rightourselves! Your father and I left you here in charge, and you undertookthe charge. We trusted you. "

Mona got down from the chair. "It's very hard if I can't ever goanywhere--I only went for a little while. Millie said father wouldn't behere--the boats weren't in sight. And you see she was right! They areever so late. "

"Well, I suppose we are all made differently, but I couldn't have playedgames knowing that the boats ought to have been in, and not knowing whatmight have happened to my father. "

"I get tired of always sticking around, waiting on the old boats. I neverthought of there being any danger, they're so often late. It was onlytowards the end that people came down looking for them and wondering. "

Lucy groaned. "Well, I'm thankful you don't suffer as I do, child. P'raps I'm foolish, but I'm terrified of the sea, and I never getaccustomed to the danger of it. " And she looked so white and wan, Mona'sheart was touched, and some of the sullenness died out of her face andvoice. 

"I never thought--there was only a little wind, " she began, when a sharprap at the door interrupted her, then the latch was raised, and the dooropened briskly. "Boats are in sight, Mrs. Carne! and all's well!" cried avoice cheerfully, and old Job Maunders popped his grizzled head round thescreen. "I thought you might be troubling, ma'am, so I just popped 'foreto tell 'ee. I'm off down to see if I can lend a hand. "

And before Lucy could thank him, the kindly old man was hurrying awaythrough the garden and down the street. 

But what changed feelings he had left behind him! Tired though she was, Lucy was on her feet in a moment and her face radiant. "Come, dear, we'vegot to bustle round now for a bit. You run and get some sticks and make agood fire, and I'll get out his clean, dry things. Then while I'm cookingthe supper you can be laying the cloth. "

While she spoke she was gathering up a lot of parcels which were lyingscattered over the table. 

"I'm longing to show you what I've bought. "

"Yes, " thought Mona, "and I am longing to see!"

"I wonder if you'll like what I've chosen for you. "

"I wonder, too!" thought Mona. 

"We'll have a good look at everything when we've had supper. Then weneedn't be hurrying and scurrying all the time, and there'll be moreroom. "

In spite of the upset to her feelings, Mona was interested, but all realpleasure was gone. She knew that probably there was something for her inone of the fat parcels, but the thought of taking any more kindness fromLucy, to whom she had behaved so badly, was painful. She wanted, instead, to make amends to replace the lost five shillings. She longed to have themoney to pay back, but she had not one penny! All she could do was towork, and to go without things she wanted. She could do the first betterthan the last, and she would rather. She did not really mind working, but she did mind denying herself things she had set her heart on. "But I will, I will, " she thought to herself while the shock of the theftwas still on her. 

Before very long the fire was burning brightly, the kettle was beginningto sing, and Lucy was cooking the sausages and bacon she had brought backwith her from Baymouth. The savoury smell of them wafted through thekitchen and reached the hungry, weary man trudging heavily up the garden. Then Mona caught the sound of his coming, and rushed out, while Lucy stoodbehind her with radiant face and glowing eyes. 

"You must be chilled to the bone, and dead beat, " she cried. "Ain't you, father?"

"I thought I was--but I ain't now. It's worth everything just for thepleasure of coming back to a home like mine, my girl. "

CHAPTER VI. 

Mona was growing more and more impatient. "Grown-ups do take so long overeverything, " she thought irritably. "If it gets much later mother willsay, 'there isn't time to open the parcels to-night, we must wait tillmorning!' Oh, dear!"

It was long past eight before they had sat down to their meal, and then, her father and mother both being very tired, they took it in such aleisurely fashion that Mona thought they never would have finished. They, of course, were glad to sit still and talk of their day's doings, but Mona, as soon as her hunger was satisfied, was simply longing to be upand examining the contents of the tempting-looking parcels which hadwaited so long on the side-table. 

She fidgeted with her knife and fork, she rattled her cup and shuffledher feet, but still her father went on describing his adventures, and still Lucy sat listening eagerly. To them this was the happiest andmost restful time of the day. The day's work was done, duty would notcall to them again until morning. The kitchen was warm and comfortable. It was just the right time for a leisurely talk, but Mona did not realisethis. 

At last, disturbed by her restlessness, her mother and father broke offtheir talk and got up from the table. 

"Now you have a pipe, father, while Mona and I put away the supper things. After that I'll be able to sit down and hear the rest of it. I expectMona's tired and wants to be off to bed. "

"No, I am not, " said Mona sharply. In her heart she grumbled, "Work, work, always work--never a bit of fun. " She had forgotten the hours shehad spent playing on the quay only a little while before. She would notremind her mother of the parcels, but sulked because she had forgottenthem. Lucy looked at her anxiously now and again, puzzled to know why hermood had changed so suddenly. She was still puzzling over the matter, when, in putting something back on the side-table, she saw the pile ofparcels. 

"Why, Mona, " she cried, "I'd forgot all about my shopping, and the thingsI was going to show you. Make haste and dry your hands and come and look. We'll be able to have a nice, quiet little time now before we go to bed!"

Mona's face changed at once, and her whole manner too. It did not takeher long after that to finish up and be ready. 

"That, " said Lucy, putting one big roll aside, "that's the blue wool forfather. We needn't open that now. Oh, and this, is for you, dear, "pushing a big box towards Mona. "I hope you will like it. I thought itsweetly pretty. Directly I saw it I thought to myself, now that'll justsuit our Mona! I seemed to see you wearing it. "

Mona's heart beat faster, her cheeks grew rosy with excitement. "Whatever can it be!" she wondered, and her fingers trembled so witheagerness, she was ever so long untying the string. 

"If you don't like it, " went on Lucy, busy untying the knots of anotherparcel, "Mr. Phillips promised he'd change it, if it wasn't damaged atall. "

How tantalising Lucy was! Whatever could it be! Then at last the knotgave way, and Mona lifted the lid, and pushed the silver paper aside. "Oh, mother!" She clapped her hands in a rapture, her eyes sparkled withjoy. "Oh, mother! It's--it's lovely. I didn't know, I didn't think youcould get me a hat to-day--oh--h!"

"Then you like it?"

"It's lovely!"

"Try it on, and let us see if it suits you. That's the chief thing, isn'tit?" Lucy tried to look grave, but she was nearly as excited anddelighted as Mona herself. 

Mona put it on and looked at her mother with shy questioning. She hopedso much that it did suit her, for she longed to keep it. 

Lucy gazed at her critically from all sides, then she nodded with graveapproval. "Yes, I never saw you in one that suited you better, to mymind. Go and see for yourself--but wait a minute, " as Mona was hurryingaway to the scullery, where hung a little mirror about a foot square. "Don't treat that poor box so badly, " as she rescued it from the floor, "there's something else in amongst all that paper. Look again. "

Mona opened the box again, but her heart had sunk suddenly. Yes, there itwas, the very thing she had dreaded to see--a wreath of blueforget-me-nots and soft green leaves! There was a piece of black ribbonvelvet too, to make the whole complete. 

It was a charming wreath. Compared with it, her own purchase seemed poorand common. 

Mona held it in her hand, gazing at it with lowered lids. Then suddenlyher eyes filled with tears. "Oh, mother, " she stammered brokenly. There was such real pain in her voice that Lucy looked at her in anxioussurprise. "Don't you like it?" she asked, disappointed. She had hopedfor a rapturous outburst of pleasure, and, instead, Mona stood silent, embarrassed, evidently on the verge of tears. 

"Don't you like it, dear?" she asked again. "I thought you would havebeen pleased. The blue on that silvery white straw looks so pretty, I think. Don't you?"

Mona nodded, but did not speak. "Mona, dear, what is it? Tell me what'swrong? I am sure there is something. Perhaps I can help you, if I know. "

Tears had been near Mona's eyes for some moments, and the kindness in hermother's face and voice broke down all restraints. Tossing the hat oneway and the wreath another, Mona ran into Lucy's arms, sobbing bitterly. 

"Oh--I must tell. I can't keep it in any longer! Oh, mother, I've got awreath already, I bought it myself, and I hate it--oh, I hate it!I--I can't tell you how bad I've felt about it ever since I got it!"And then the whole of the miserable story came pouring out. She keptnothing back. She told of her keeping the eighteenpence, of her dream, ofher mortification in the shop. "And--and it seemed as if my dream cametrue, " she said, when presently the worst was told. "I was so crazy forthe forget-me-nots that I couldn't get, that I never thought anything ofthe wallflowers close beside me, and then, when I had got forget-me-nots, I was disappointed; and when I lost the wallflowers, I began to think allthe world of them!"

Lucy, with her head resting against Mona's, as she held her in her arms, smiled sadly. "It's the same with all of us, dear. We're so busy lookinginto our neighbour's garden patch, envying them what they've got, that wedon't see what we've got in our own, and, as like as not, trample it downwith reaching up to look over the wall, and lose it altogether. Now, pickup your hat and your flowers and try to get all the pleasure you can outof them. I hoped they'd have brought you such a lot. Or would you ratherchange the wreath for another?"

But Mona would not hear of that. "Oh, no, I wanted blue forget-me-nots, and these are lovely. I'd rather have them than anything, thank you, mother. "

"You couldn't have anything prettier, " said Peter Carne, rousing suddenlyfrom his nap. 

Lucy laughed. "Now, father, whatever do you know about it! You go tosleep again. Mona and I are talking about finery. " She was busy undoinga large parcel of drapery. "I've got the print here for your frocks, "she turned to Mona again. "I'd have liked to have had both dark blue, but I thought you might fancy a pink one, so I got stuff for one of each. There, do you like them?"

"Like them! Oh, mother, are they really both for me! And what prettybuttons! Are those for me, too?"

"Yes, it's all for you, dear. " Lucy's voice had begun to sound tired andfaint. She had had a long, wearying day, and the parcels had been heavy. Mona, though, did not notice anything. She was busy arranging the wreathround the crown of her hat. "If I only had a white dress, wouldn't itlook nice with this! Oh, I'd love to have a white dress. If I'd stayedwith granny, she was going to get me one this summer. "

Her father turned and looked across at them. "What've you bought foryourself, Lucy, my girl?" he asked suddenly. Lucy looked up in surprise. "I--oh, I didn't want anything, father, " she said, somewhat embarrassed. "I don't need anything new this summer. My dove-colour merino is as goodas it was the day I bought it. It seems foolish to--to buy new when onedoesn't need it, " she added hastily. "It is only a trouble to keep. "

"Do you mean the one you were married in?" asked Peter shrewdly. 

Lucy nodded. "Yes--the one you liked. I'll get myself a new pair ofgloves. I can get those at Tamlin's. "

"Um!" There was a deal of meaning in Peter Carne's 'Um. ' "Well, you'llnever get one that's prettier, but you ought to have something new andnice, too. And what about your medicine?"

"Oh!" Lucy coloured. "Oh, I--I'm trying to do without it. It isn't goodfor anyone to be taking it too often. "

"That's what granny always says, " chimed in Mona. "She says if people getinto the way of taking medicine they get to think they can't do withoutit. "

Lucy's pale cheeks flushed pink, and a hurt look crept into her eyes. Her husband was deeply annoyed, and showed it. "I think, my girl, "he said, in a sterner voice than Mona had ever heard before, "you'd betterwait to offer your opinion until you are old enough to know what you aretalking about. You are more than old enough, though, to know that it'swrong to repeat what's said before you. After all your mother's boughtfor you, too, I'd have thought, " he broke off, for Mona's eyes were oncemore full of tears. Never in her life before had her father spoken to herso severely. 

"I--I didn't mean any harm, " she stammered, apologetically. 

"Then you should learn to think, and not say things that may do harm. If what's on your tongue to say is likely to hurt anybody's feelings, orto make mischief, then don't let it slip past your tongue. You'll get onif you keep that rule in your mind. "

Lucy put her arm round her little stepdaughter, and drew her close. "I know that our Mona wouldn't hurt me wilfully, " she said kindly. "She's got too warm a heart. "

Peter Carne patted Mona's shoulder tenderly. "I know--I know she has. We've all got to learn and you can't know things unless they are pointedout to you. I'm always thankful to them that helped me in that way when Iwas young. Mona'll be glad, too, some day. "

"Grown-ups always say things like that, " thought Mona, wistfully. She didnot feel at all glad then. In fact, she felt so ashamed and so mortified, she thought gladness could never enter into her life again. 

It did come, though, for the hurt was not as deep as she thought. It camethe next day when her mother trimmed the new hat. Lucy had good taste, and when living at the Grange she had often helped the young ladies withtheir millinery. 

"If I put the velvet bow just where the wreath joins, and let the endshang just ever so little over the edge of the brim, I think it'll looknice and a little bit out of the common. Don't you, dear?" She held upthe hat to show off the effect. Mona thought it was lovely. 

"Then, as soon as ever I can I'll cut out your dresses, and, if you'llhelp me with the housework, I'll make them myself. It won't take me sovery long, with my machine. "

She spoke of it so lightly that Mona did not realise in the least what thefatigue of it would be to her. 

"Oh, I'll do everything, " she said, cheerfully. "You leave everything tome, mother, and only do your sewing, I can manage. "

And she did manage, and well, too, in the intervals of trying on, andadmiring, and watching the frocks growing into shape and beauty underLucy's hands. They were quite plain little frocks, but in Mona's eyesthey were lovely. She could not decide which of them she liked best. 

Lucy finished off the pink one first, and as soon as it was completed Monatook it upstairs and put it on. New dresses very seldom came her way, andshe was in a great state of excitement. She had never in her life beforehad one that she might put on on a week day and wear all day long. As a rule, one had to wait for Sunday, and then the frock might only beworn for a few hours, if the weather was fine, and as soon as ever churchand Sunday school were over it had to be changed. 

"Doesn't it look nice!" she cried, delightedly, running downstairs to showher mother. "And it fits me like a glove!" Her cheeks were almost aspink as her gown. Her blue eyes glowed with pleasure. She looked like apretty pink blossom as she stood with the sunshine pouring in on her. 

Lucy smiled at the compliment to her skill. "You do look nice, dear. "

Holding out her crisp, pink skirt, Mona danced gaily round the kitchen, the breeze blowing in at the open door ruffled her hair a little. She drew herself up, breathless, and glanced out. Everything certainlylooked very tempting out of doors. She longed to go and have a run, the breeze and the sunshine seemed to be calling her. She scarcely liked, though, to leave her mother, tired as she was, and still busy at the bluefrock. 

While she was standing looking out, her father appeared at the gate, a letter in his hand. He came up the path reading it. When he came tothe porch he looked up and saw Mona. 

"Oh, my! How smart we are!"

"Do you like it, father? Isn't it pretty?"

"Fine! And now I s'pose you're longing to go out and show it off!"He laughed, and pinched her cheeks. Mona felt quite guilty at his quickreading of her thoughts, but before she could reply he went on, moregravely, "I've got a letter from your grandmother. She sends her love toyou. " He went inside and put the letter down on the table before Lucy. 

"She doesn't seem very well, " he said, with a pucker on his brow, "and shecomplains of being lonely. I'm very glad she's got nice neighbours handy. They'd be sure to run in and see her, and look after her a bit if she'sbad. I shouldn't like to feel she was ailing, and all alone. "

Mona's face dropped, and her heart too. She felt horribly guilty. "Would Mrs. Lane go in and sit with her for company? Would she look afterher if she was bad? Had they made up their quarrel?" she wondered, "or were they still not on speaking terms?" She did not know whether totell her father of the quarrel or not, so she said nothing. 

Lucy had been busy trying to frame an excuse for sending Mona out. She knew she was longing to go. 

"Mona, " she said, when at last they had finished discussing the letter andits contents, "would you like to go down to Mr. Henders' for some tea andsugar, and go on to Dr. Edwards for my medicine? He said it would beready whenever anyone could come for it. "

Mona beamed with pleasure. "I'll go and put on my hat and boots now thisminute, " and within ten she was ready, and walking, basket in hand, andvery self-conscious, down the hill to the shops. 

The church clock struck twelve as she reached the doctor's. In a fewminutes the children would all be pouring out of school, and wouldn't theystare when they saw her! She felt almost shy at the thought of facingthem, and gladly turned into Mr. Henders' out of their way. She woulddawdle about in there, she told herself, until most of them had gone by. 

She did dawdle about until Mrs. Henders asked her twice if there wasanything more that she wanted, and, as she could not pretend that therewas, she had to step out and face the world again. Fortunately, though, only the older and sedater girls were to be seen. Philippa Luxmore andPatty Row, each carrying her dinner bag, Winnie Maunders, and KittyJohnson, and one or two Mona did not know to speak to. 

Philippa and Patty always brought their dinner with them, as the schoolwas rather far from their homes. Sometimes they had their meal in theschoolroom, but, if the weather was warm and dry, they liked best to eatit out of doors, down on the rocks, or in a field by the school. 

When they caught sight of Mona they rushed up to her eagerly. "Oh, my!How nice you look, Mona. What a pretty frock! It's new, isn't it?Are you going to wear it every day or only on Sundays?"

"Oh, every day. " Mona spoke in a lofty tone. "It's only one of my workingfrocks. I've got two. The other's a blue one. Mother's made them forme. "

"Um! Your mother is good to you, Mona Carne! I wish I'd got frocks likethat for working in. I'd be glad to have them for Sundays. Where are yougoing?"

"Home. "

"Oh, don't go home yet. Patty and me are going down to eat our dinner onthe rocks. Come on down too. You won't hurt your frock. "

"I don't think I can stay--I ought to go back. I've got mother's medicinehere. It's getting on for dinner-time, too, and father's home to-day. "Glancing up the road, she caught sight of Millie Higgins and another girlin the distance. She particularly did not want to meet Millie just then. She made such rude remarks, and she always fingered things so. Mona hadnot forgiven her either for leading her astray the day her mother wentinto Baymouth. 

She hesitated a moment and was lost. She turned and walked away from herhome. Philippa slipped her arm through hers on one side, and Patty on theother, and almost before she knew where she was she was racing with themto the shore. 

The wind had risen somewhat, so it took them some minutes to find a nicesheltered spot in the sunshine and out of the wind, and they had to sit onthe land side of the rocks, with their backs to the sea. It was verypleasant, though, and, once settled, Mona told them all about her new hat, and they gave her a share of their dinner. 

After that they told her of the new summer frocks they were to have, andthe conversation grew so interesting and absorbing, they forgot everythingelse until the church clock struck two!

With a howl of dismay, they all sprang to their feet, and then they howledagain, and even more loudly. 

"Oh, Mona, look! The tide's right in! We'll have to get back through thefields, and, oh, shan't we be late!" Patty and Philippa began to scrambleback as fast as ever they could. "Good-bye, " they called over theirshoulders. "Oh, Mona, look out for your basket, it's floating. "

They could not have stayed to help her, but it did seem heartless of themto run away and leave her alone to manage as best she could. Mona looked about her helplessly, her heart sinking right down, down. The tide at that point had a way of creeping up gently, stealthily, andthen, with one big swirl would rush right in and around the group of rockson which she stood. If the wind was high and the sea at all rough, aslikely as not it would sweep right over the rocks and back again with suchforce that anyone or anything on them was swept away with it. There wasnot wind enough to-day for that. At least, Mona herself was safe, but herbasket!--already that was swamped with water. At the thought of theruined tea and sugar her eyes filled. Her mother's medicine was in thebasket too. She would save that! At any rate, she would feel less guiltyand ashamed if she could take that back to her. She made a dash to seizethe basket before the next wave caught it, slipped on the slimy rock, andfell face forward--and at the same moment she heard the crash of breakingglass. The medicine was mingling with the waves, the basket was ridingout on the crest of them!

Poor Mona! At that minute the hardest heart would have felt sorry forher. Her dress was ruined, her hands were scraped and cut, her mother'stonic was gone! The misery which filled her heart was more than she couldbear. "I can't go home!" she sobbed. "I can't, I never can any more. "Big sobs shook her, tears poured down her cheeks. "I can't go home, I can't face them. Oh, what shall I do! What shall I do!" She lookeddown over her wet, green-slimed frock, so pretty and fresh but an hourago, and her sobs broke out again. "I'll--I'll run away--they won't wantme after this, but p'raps they'll be sorry for me when they miss me. Oh, I wish I'd never come, I wish I'd never met Phil and Patty--they'd nobusiness to ask me to come with them--it was too bad of them. I wish I'dgone straight home. If it hadn't been for Millie Higgins I should have, and all this would have been saved. Oh, what shall I do?"

As there was no one but a few gulls to advise her, she received nocomfort, and had, after all, to settle the question for herself. 

For a few moments all she did was to cry. Then, "I'll go to granny, " shedecided. "She'll be glad to have me, and she won't scold. Yes, I'll goto granny. Father and mother will be glad to be rid of me--I--I'm nothingbut a trouble to them!" But, all the same, she felt so sorry for herselfshe could scarcely see where she was going for the tears which blindedher. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Mona's first thought was to avoid being seen by anyone who would recogniseher; her second--that she must keep out of sight as much as possible untilher dress was dry, and her face less disfigured, for anyone meeting hernow would stop her to enquire if she had met with an accident. 

By keeping along the shore for some little distance it was possible to getout on to the high road to Milbrook, but it was not an easy path totravel. It meant continued climbing over rocks, ploughing through loose, soft sand, or heavy wet sand, clinging to the face of a cliff andscrambling along it, or wading through deep water. 

What her new pink frock would be like by the time she reached the roadMona did not care to contemplate. "It will be ruined for ever--the first time of wearing, too, " and a sob caught in her throat as sheremembered how her mother had toiled to get the material, and then to makethe dress. Now that she was losing her she realised how much she hadgrown to love her mother in the short time she had lived with her, and howgood and kind Lucy had been. It never occurred to her that she wasdoubling her mother's trouble by running away in this cowardly fashion. Indeed, she would have been immensely surprised if anyone had hinted atsuch a thing. She was convinced that she was doing something very heroicand self-denying; and the more she hurt herself clambering over the roughroads, the more heroic and brave she thought herself. And when, at last, she stepped out on the high road, and realised that she had seven miles towalk to her grandmother's house, she thought herself bravest of all, a perfect heroine, in fact. 

Already she was feeling hungry, for breakfast had been early, and Pattyand Philippa had only been able to spare her a slice of bread and butterand a biscuit. 

On she trudged, and on, and on. A distant clock struck three, and just atthe same moment she passed a sign-post with 'Milbrook, 6 miles, ' paintedon one arm of it, and 'Seacombe, 1 mile, ' on another. 

"Then she had six long tiresome miles to walk before she could get ameal!" she thought. "If she did not get on faster than she was doing, it would be dark night before she reached Hillside Cottage, and grannywould be gone to bed. She always went to bed as soon as daylight began togo. How frightened she would be at being called up to let Mona in!"

The thought quickened her steps a little, and she covered the next mile ingood time. She ran down the hills, and trotted briskly along the level. She got on faster in that way, but she very soon felt too tired tocontinue. Her legs ached so badly she had no heart left for running. Now and again she leaned back against the hedge for a little rest, and oh, how she did wish that it was the blackberry season! She was starving, orfelt as though she was. 

By and by, when she had quite despaired of ever reaching granny's thatnight, she caught sight of a cart lumbering along in the distance, and aman sitting up in it driving. It was the first sight of a human beingthat she had seen since she started, and she welcomed it gladly. "Perhaps it's going my way, and will give me a lift. "

The thought so cheered her that she went back a little way to meet thecart. When she drew nearer she saw that it was a market cart, and thatthe driver was a kindly-looking elderly man. Every now and again hetalked encouragingly to his horse to quicken its pace. Between whiles hesang snatches of a hymn in a loud, rolling bass. 

As soon as he saw that Mona was waiting to speak to him, he stopped hissinging and drew up the horse. 

"Good evening, missie, " he said civilly. "Are you wanting a lift?"

"Oh, please--I wondered if you would--I am so tired I can hardly walk. "

"Um! Where were you thinking of going?"

"To Hillside----"

"Um! You've got a brave step to go yet. We're a good three miles fromHillside. Have 'ee come far?"

"From Seacombe, " Mona admitted reluctantly. 

"My word! It's a brave long walk for a young thing like you to takealone. Why, you wouldn't reach Hillside till after dark--not at the rateyou could go. You look tired out already. "

"I am, " sighed Mona, pathetically. 

"Here, jump up quick, or my old nag'll fall asleep, and I'll have theworks of the world to wake un up again. "

Mona laughed. "Thank you, " she said, eyes and voice full of gratitude asshe clambered up the wheel, and perched herself on the high, hard seatbeside her new friend. "I'm very much obliged to you, sir. I don'tbelieve I'd ever have got there, walking all the way. I didn't know sevenmiles was so far. "

"I don't believe you would. A mile seems like two when you ain't in goodtrim for it, and the more miles you walk, the longer they seem. Gee up, you old rogue you!" This to the horse, who, after much coaxing, had consented to move on again. 

"I never felt so tired in all my life before, " sighed Mona, in a voice sofaint and weary that her companion looked at her sharply. 

"Had any dinner?" he asked. 

Mona shook her head. "No, I--I missed my dinner. I--I came away in ahurry. "

"That's always a bad plan. " He stooped down and pulled a straw bagtowards him. "I couldn't eat all mine. My wife was too generous to me. P'raps you could help me out with it. I don't like to take any home--itkind of hurts my wife's feelings if I do. She thinks I'm ill, too. Can you finish up what's left?"

He unrolled a clean white cloth and laid it and its contents on Mona'slap. 

"Could she!" Mona's eyes answered for her. 

"Do you like bread and ham? It may be a trifle thick----"

"Oh!" gasped Mona, "I think bread and ham, _thick_ bread and ham is nicerthan anything else in the world!"

"Um! Peg away, then. And there's an orange, in case you're thirsty. "

"Oh, you are kind!" cried Mona, gratefully. "And oh, I am so glad I metyou, I don't believe I'd have got much further, I was feeling so faint. "

"That was from want of food. Here, before you begin, hadn't you betterput something about your shoulders. It's getting fresh now the sun's gonedown, and when we get to the top of that hill we shall feel it. Have yougot a coat, or a shawl, or something?"

"No, I haven't. I--I came away in a hurry--but I shall be all right. I don't mind the cold. "

"I should think you were in too much of a hurry--to have forget yourshawl, and your dinner, too. Wasn't there anybody to look after you, and see you started out properly?"

"No. "

"You ain't an orphan, are you?"

"Oh, no, I've got a father and a stepmother----"

"Oh-h!" meaningly. "Is that the trouble?"

Mona fired up at once in defence of Lucy. "No, it isn't. She's just thesame as my own mother. She's so kind to me--if she hadn't been so kindI--I wouldn't have minded so much. She sat up last night to--to finishmaking my frock for me. " Her words caught in her throat, and she couldsay no more. 

Her companion eyed first her disfigured face, and then her bedraggledfrock. "It seems to have seen trouble since last night, don't it?" heremarked drily, and then the words and the sobs in Mona's throat pouredout together. 

"That's why--I--I'm here. I can't go home and show her what I've done. It was so pretty only this morning--and now----" Then bit by bitMona poured forth her tale of woe into the ears of the kindly stranger, and Mr. Dodds sat and listened patiently, thoughtfully. 

"And what about your poor father and mother and their feelings, " he askedwhen Mona had done. 

"Oh--oh--they'll be glad to be rid of me. They'll be better without me, "said Mona, with the air and voice of a martyr. 

"Um! If you're certain sure of that, all well and good, but wouldn't ithave been better to have went back and asked them? It does seem a bithard that they should be made to suffer more 'cause they've suffered somuch already. They won't know but what you've been carried out to sea'long with your poor mother's tonic. "

Mona did not reply. In her inmost heart she knew that he was right, but she hadn't the courage to face the truth. It was easier, too, to goon than to go back, and granny would be glad to see her. She would besorry for her, and would make much of her. Granny always thought that allshe did was right. 

In spite of her feelings, though, Mona finished her meal, and felt muchbetter for it, but she presently grew so sleepy she could not talk andcould scarcely keep on her seat. Mr. Dodds noticed the curly head sinkdown lower and lower, then start up again with a jerk, then droop again. 

"Look here--what's your name, my dear?"

"Mona--Carne, " said Mona, sleepily, quite oblivious of the fact that shehad given away her identity. 

"Well, Mona, what I was going to say was, you'll be tumbling off your seatand find yourself under the wheel before you know where you are; so I'dadvise you to get behind there, and curl down into the straw. Then, ifyou draw my top-coat over you, you'll be safe and warm both. "

Mona needed no second bidding. She almost tumbled into the clean, sweet-smelling straw. "Thank you, " she was going to say, as she drew thecoat up over her, but she only got as far as 'thank, ' and it seemed to herthat before she could say 'you, ' she was roused again by the cart drawingup, and there she was at her grandmother's gate, with granny standing onthe doorstep peering out into the dimness. She thought she had closed hereyes for only a minute, and in that minute they had travelled three miles. 

"Is that you, Mr. Dodds?" Granny called out sharply. "Whatever made 'eecome at this time of night? 'Tis time your poor 'orse was 'ome in hisstable, and you in your own house!"

"I've come on purpose to bring you something very valuable, Mrs. Barnes. I've got a nice surprise for 'ee here in my cart. Now then, little maid, you've come to the end of your journey--and I've got a brave way to go. "

Mona was still so sleepy that she had to be almost lifted out of the cart. 

"What! Why! Mona!" Then, as Mona stumbled up the path she almost fellinto her grandmother's arms. "What's the meaning of it? What are theythinking about to send 'ee back at this time of night! In another fewminutes I'd have been gone to bed. I don't call it considerate at all. "

"They don't know, " stammered Mona. "I wasn't sent, I came. Oh, granny, don't ask about it now--let me get indoors and sit down. I'm so tired Ican't stand. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. "

But tired though she was, she turned back and thanked her rescuer. "I'd have been sleeping under a hedge to-night, if it hadn't been foryou, " she said gratefully. 

"Oh, what I did isn't anything, " he said amiably. "'Tisn't worth speakingabout. I don't doubt but what you'd do as much for me, if I wanted it. Good night, Mrs. Barnes. Take care of yourself, ma'am, it's a bit freshto-night. Good night, little maid. Gee-up, Nettle, my son. "

What he had done was a mere nothing, as he said. But what he did dobefore the night was over was a very big something. Between two and threehours later he was in Seacombe, and knocking at Peter Carne's door. 

"I knew you'd be anxious, so I thought I'd just step along and let 'eeknow that your little maid's all right, " he said quietly, making nomention of the seven long miles he had tramped after he had fed andstabled his horse for the night. 

"Anxious!" Lucy lay half fainting in her chair. Peter's face was whiteand drawn with the anguish of the last few hours. Neither of them coulddoubt any longer that Mona had been swept off the rock and out to sea. Nothing else could have kept her, they thought. Patty and Philippa hadtold where they had last seen her, but it was four o'clock before they hadcome out of school and heard that she was missing. So the crowdsclustering about the shore had never any hope of finding her alive. 

Peter Carne almost fainted, too, with the relief the stranger's wordsbrought him. The best he had dared to hope for when the knock came wasthe news that Mona's body had been washed in. The revulsion of feelingfrom despair to joy sent him reeling helpless into a chair. 

Humphrey Dodds put out his arms and supported him gently. "I didn't know, I ought to have thought, and told 'ee more careful like. "

"Where is she?" gasped Lucy. 

"Safe with her grandmother--and there I'd let her bide for a bit, if I wasyou, " he added, with a twinkle in his eye. "It'll do her good. "

They tried to thank him, but words failed them both. They pressed him tostay the night, he must be so tired, and it was so late, but he refused. A walk was nothing to him, and he had to be at work by five the nextmorning. "But I wouldn't say 'no' to a bit of supper, " he said, knowingquite well that they would all be better for some food. 

Then, while Lucy got the meal ready, Peter went down to tell his goodnews, and send the weary searchers to their homes. 

Over their supper Mr. Dodds told them of Mona's pitiful little confession. "It doesn't seem hardly fair to tell again what she told me, but I thoughtit might help you to understand how she came to be so foolish. It don'tseem so bad when you know how it all came about. "

When he had had his supper and a pipe, he started on his homeward way, with but the faintest chance of meeting anyone at that hour who could givehim a lift over some of the long miles. 

Little dreaming of the trouble she was causing, Mona, clad in one of hergrandmother's huge, plain night-gowns, and rolled up in blankets, slept onthe old sofa in the kitchen, as dreamlessly and placidly as though shehadn't a care on her mind. 

Overhead, Grannie Barnes moaned and groaned, and tossed and heaved on herbed, but Mona slept on unconcerned and happy. Even the creaking of thestairs when granny came down in the morning did not rouse her. The firstthing that she was conscious of was a hand shaking her by the shoulders, and a voice saying rather sharply, "Come, wake up. Don't you know thatit's eight o'clock, and no fire lit, nor nothing! I thought I might havelain on a bit this morning, and you'd have brought me a cup of tea, knowing how bad I've been, and very far from well yet. You said you didit for your stepmother. It's a good thing I didn't wait any longer!"

Mona sat up and stretched, and rubbed her eyes. "Could this be grannytalking? Granny, who had never expected anything of her!"

No one feels in the best of tempers when roused out of a beautiful sleep, and to be greeted by a scolding when least of all expecting it, does notmake one feel more amiable. 

"I was fast asleep, " she mumbled, yawning. "I couldn't know the time if Iwas asleep. You should have called me. " She dropped back on her pillowwearily. "Oh, I'm so tired and I am aching all over. I don't believeI'll ever wake up any more, granny. Why--why must I get up?"

"To do some work for once. I thought you might want some breakfast. "

This was so unlike the indulgent granny she had known before she wentaway, that Mona could not help opening her eyes wide in surprise. Then she sat up, and, as granny did not relent, she put her feet over theedge of the sofa and began to think about dressing. 

"What frock can I put on, granny?" It suddenly struck her that it wouldnot be very pleasant to be living in one place while all her belongingswere in another. 

"The one you took off, I s'pose. "

"But I can't. It isn't fit to wear till it has been washed and ironed. It wants mending, too. I tore it dreadfully. "

"Um! And who do you think is going to do all that?"

Mona stared again at her granny with perplexed and anxious eyes. There used to be no question as to who would do all those things for her. "I don't know, " she faltered. 

"Well, I can't. I haven't hardly got the strength to stand and wash myown few things, and I'm much too bad to be starching and ironing frocksevery few days. Better your stepmother had got you a good stuff one thansuch a thing as that. If she had, it wouldn't have been spoilt by yourfalling on the seaweed. Nonsense, I call it!" Granny drew back thecurtains sharply, as though to give vent to her feelings. The perplexityin Mona's mind increased. She was troubled, too, by the marked change inher grandmother. In the bright morning light which now poured in, shenoticed for the first time a great difference in her appearance as well asin her manner. She was much thinner than she used to be, and very pale. Her face had a drawn look, and her eyes seemed sunken. She seemed, somehow, to have shrunken in every way. Her expression used to be smilingand kindly. It was now peevish and irritable. 

For the first time Mona realised that her grandmother had been very ill, and not merely complaining. 

"I'll light the fire, granny, in a minute--I mean, I would if I knew whatto put on. "

"There's one of your very old frocks upstairs, hanging behind the door inyour own room. It's shabby, and it's small for you, I expect, but you'llhave to make it do, if you haven't got any other. "

"It'll do for the time, till my pink one is fit to wear again. "

"Yes--but who's going to make it fit? That's what I'd like to know. Can you do it yourself? I s'pose you'd have to if you was with yourstepmother. "

"No, I can't do it. Do you think Mrs. Lane would? I'd do something forher----"

Her grandmother turned to her with a look so full of anger that Mona'swords died on her lips. For the moment she had forgotten all about thequarrel. 

"Mrs. Lane! Mrs. Lane! After the things she said about you--you'd askher to do you a favour? Well, Mona Carne, I'm ashamed of you! Don't youknow that I've never spoken to her nor her husband since that day she saidyou'd pulled down the faggots that threw me down, and then had left hercats to bear the blame of it. I've never got over that fall, and I'venever got over her saying that of you, and, ill though I've been, I've never demeaned myself by asking her to come in to see me. I don't know what you can be thinking of. I'm thankful I've got moreself-respect. "

Mona's face was crimson, and her eyes were full of shame. Oh, howbitterly she repented now that she had not had the courage to speak outthat day and say honestly, "Granny, Mrs. Lane was right, I did pull overthe faggots and forgot them. It was my fault that you tripped and fell--but I never meant that the blame should fall on anyone else. "

She longed to say it now, but her tongue failed her. What had been such alittle thing to start with had now grown quite serious. 

When her father had wanted her to come home, he had consoled himself fortaking her from granny by the thought that she had neighbours and friendsabout her for company, but now it seemed that she would rather die alonethan ask their help, or even let them know that she was ill. 

Mona turned despondently away, and slowly mounted the stairs. "If you doever so little a thing wrong, it grows and grows until it's a big thing!Here's granny all alone, 'cause of me, and mother all alone, 'cause of me, and worrying herself finely by now, I expect, and--and I shouldn't wonderif it makes her ill again, " Mona's eyes filled at the thought, "and--and Inever meant to be a bad girl. I--I seem to be one before I know it--it ishard lines. "

She unhung her old frock from behind the door, and in the chest of drawersshe found an old apron, "I shall begin to wonder soon if I've ever beenaway, " she thought to herself, as she looked at herself in the tinymirror. 

"Puss, puss, puss, " called a voice. "Come along, dears. Your breakfastis ready. "

Mona stepped to the window and peeped out. Mrs. Lane was standing with asaucer of bread and milk in each hand. At the sound of her voice her twocats came racing up the garden, chattering as they went, and she gave themtheir meal out there in the sunshine. As she turned to go back to thehouse she glanced up at Granny Barnes', and at the window where Monastood. Perhaps she had been attracted by the feeling that someone waslooking at her, or she may have heard something of Mona's arrival thenight before. 

For a second a look of surprise crossed her face, and a half-smile--thenas quickly as it came it vanished, and a look of cold disapproval took itsplace. 

Mona felt snubbed and hurt. It was dreadful to have sunk so low inanyone's opinion. It was worse when it was in Mrs. Lane's, for they usedto be such good friends, and Mrs. Lane was always so kind to her, and sopatient, and, oh, how Mona had loved to go into her house to play with herkittens, or to listen to her stories, and look at the wonderful thingsCaptain Lane had brought home with him from some of his voyages. 

Captain Lane, who had been a sailor in the Merchant Service, had been toall parts of the world, and had brought home something from most. 

Mona coloured hotly with the pain of the snub, and the reproof itconveyed. 

"I can't bear it, " she thought. "I can't bear it--I'll have to tell. "

She went down to the kitchen in a very troubled state of mind. Life seemed very sad and difficult just now. 

Granny was sitting by the fire, a few sticks in her hand. "It's taken meall this time to get these, " she said pathetically, "and now I can't stoopany more. What time we shall get any breakfast I don't know, I'm sure, and I'm sinking for the want of something. "

"I'll get you a cup of tea soon. I won't be any time. " It cheered her alittle to have something to do, and she clutched at anything that helpedher not to think. She lighted the fire, swept the hearth up, and laid thecloth. Then she went out to sweep the doorstep. It was lovely outside inthe sweet sunshine. Mona felt she could have been so happy if only----While she was lingering over her task, Mrs. Lane came out to sweep herstep and the tiled path, but this time she kept her head steadily turnedaway. 

"I'll go right in and tell granny now this minute, " thought Mona, her lipquivering with pain. "Then, perhaps, we'll all be friends again. I can't bear to live here like this. "

But when she turned into the kitchen the kettle was boiling, and hergrandmother was measuring the tea into the pot. "Get the loaf and thebutter, child, I feel I can eat a bit of bread and butter this morning. "

Mona got them, and the milk, and some more coal to make up the fire, andall the time she was saying over and over to herself different beginningsof her confession. She was so deeply absorbed in her thoughts that shedid not notice the large slice of bread and butter that her grandmotherhad put on her plate. 

"Don't you want it?" Granny asked sharply. "Why, how red you are, child!What have you been doing to make your colour like that. You haven'tbroken anything, have you?"

Her tone and her sharpness jarred on Mona cruelly, and put all her newresolutions to flight. "No, I haven't, " she said, sullenly. "There wasn't anything to break but the broom, and you saw me put thatright away. "

Granny looked at her for a moment in silence. "Your manners haven'timproved since you went home, " she said severely. "If I'd spoken to mygrandmother like that, I'd have been sent to bed. "

A new difficulty opened before Mona's troubled mind. If she was rude, oridle, or disagreeable, the blame for it would fall upon Lucy, and thatwould be an injustice she could not bear. Now that she had lost her sherealised how good Lucy had been to her, and how much she loved her. For her sake, she would do all she could to control her temper and hertongue. 

She had coloured again--with indignation this time--hot words had sprungto her lips in defence of Lucy, but she closed them determinedly, andchoked the words back again. She felt that she could say nothing; shefelt, too, that Lucy would not wish her to say anything. She could notexplain so as to make her granny understand that it was not Lucy's faultthat she was rude and ill-tempered. It was by acts, not words, that shecould serve Lucy best. And for her sake she _would_ try. She would tryher very hardest to control her temper and her tongue. The determinationbrought some comfort to her poor troubled heart. At any rate, she wouldbe doing something that Lucy would be glad about. 

Her confession, though, remained unspoken. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Mona did try to be good, she tried hard, but she was very, very unhappy. She missed her home, she missed Lucy, and her father, and her freedom. She longed, too, with an intolerable longing, for the sight and the soundof the sea. She had never, till now that she had lost them, realised howdearly she loved the quaint little steep and rambling village, with thesea at its foot, and the hills behind it. She was always homesick. 

Perhaps if she had been sent to Hillside, and it had been her plain dutyto live there, and nowhere else, she might have felt more happy andsettled. Or, if granny had been the same indulgent, sympathetic granny asof old, but she had placed herself where she was by her own foolish, unkind act, which she now bitterly repented; and she was there with acloud resting on her character and motives. She had shown herselfungrateful and unkind; she had played a coward's part, and had bitterlypained her father and Lucy. 

They did not reproach her--she would have felt better had they done so--but she knew. And, after all, granny did not want her, or so it seemed!

Mona did not realise that her grandmother was really seriously unwell, and that her irritability she could not help. Mrs. Barnes did not know itherself. Mona only realised that she was almost always cross, that nothing pleased her, that she never ran and fetched and carried, as she used to do, while Mona sat by the fire and read. It was granny whosat by the fire now. She did not read, though. She said her eyes painedher, and her head ached too much. She did not sew, either. She just satidly by the fire and moped and dozed, or roused herself to grumble atsomething or other. 

The day after she came to Hillside, Mona had written to her mother. She told her where she was, and why, and tried to say that she was sorry, but no reply had come, and this troubled her greatly. 

"Were they too angry with her to have anything more to say to her?Was Lucy ill?"

Every day she went to meet the postman, her heart throbbing with eageranxiety, and day after day she went back disappointed. If it had not beenfor very shame, she would have run away again and gone home, and haveasked to be forgiven, but she could not make up her mind to do that. Probably they would not want her at home again, after all the trouble andexpense she had been to them. Perhaps her father might even send her backto Hillside again. The shame of that would be unbearable!

She was uncomfortable, too, as well as unhappy. She wanted her clothes, her brush and comb, her books, and all her other belongings. She had, after a fashion, settled into her old room again, but it seemed bare andunhomelike after her pretty one at Cliff Cottage. 

Then one day, after long waiting and longing, and hope and disappointment, her father came. For a moment her heart had leaped with the glad wildhope that he had come to take her back with him. Then the sight of thebox and parcel he carried had dashed it down again. He had brought herall her possessions. 

"Well, Mona, " he said quietly, as she stood facing him, shy andembarrassed. "So you prefer Hillside to Seacombe! Well, it's always bestto be where you're happiest, if you feel free to make your choice. For my own part, I couldn't live away from the sea, but tastes differ. "

"But--mine--don't differ, " stammered Mona. "I am not happier. " She wasso overcome she could hardly speak above a whisper, and her father hadalready turned to Mrs. Barnes. 

"Well, mother, " he cried, and poor Mona could not help noticing how muchmore kindly his voice sounded when he spoke to granny. "How are you?You don't look first rate. Don't 'ee feel up to the mark?" He spokelightly, but his eyes, as they studied the old woman's face, were full ofsurprise and concern. Granny shook her head. "No, I ain't well, "she said, dully. "I'm very, very far from well. I don't know what's thematter. P'raps 'tis the weather. "

"The weather's grand. It's bootiful enough to set everybody dancing, "said her son-in-law cheerfully, but still eyeing her with that same lookof concern. 

"P'raps 'tis old age, then. I'm getting on, of course. It's only what Iought to expect; but I seem to feel old all of a sudden; everything's aburden to me. I can't do my work as I used, and I can't walk, and I can'tget used to doing nothing I'm ashamed for you to see the place as it is, Peter if I'd known you was coming I'd have made an effort----"

"That's just why I didn't tell 'ee, mother. I came unexpected on purpose, 'cause I didn't want 'ee to be scrubbing the place from the chimney potsdown to the rain-water barrel. I know what you are, you see. "

Poor old Granny Barnes smiled, but Mona felt hurt. She did her best tokeep the house clean and tidy, and she thought it was looking as nice asnice could be. "What I was, you mean, " said granny. "I don't seem tohave the strength to scrub anything now-a-days. "

"Oh, well, there's no need for 'ee to. You've got Mona to do that kind ofthing for 'ee. "

Mona's heart sank even lower. "Then he really had no thought of havingher home again!"

"I've brought your clothes, Mona, " he said, turning again to her. "Lucy was troubled that they hadn't been sent before. She thought youmust be wanting them. "

"Thank you, " said Mona, dully, and could think of nothing more to say, though she knew her father waited for an answer. 

"I've brought 'ee some fish, mother, " picking up the basket. "It come inlast night. I thought you might fancy a bit, and Lucy sent a bit ofbacon, her own curing, and a jelly, or something of that sort. "Granny's face brightened. Though she had not approved of Mona's beinggiven a stepmother, she appreciated Lucy's kindness, and when theypresently sat down to dinner and she had some of the jelly, sheappreciated it still more. Her appetite had needed coaxing, but there hadbeen nothing to coax it with. "It tempts anyone to eat, " she remarked, graciously. "When one is out of sorts, one fancies something out of thecommon. "

"Lucy'll be rare and pleased to think you could take a bit, " said Peter, delighted for Lucy's sake. 

"Yes, thank you. She's made it very nice. A trifle sour, perhaps, but Ilike things rather sharpish. "

"Mother, " said Peter suddenly, "I wish you'd come to Seacombe to live. It'd be nice to have you near. " His eyes had been constantly wandering tohis mother-in-law's face, and always with the same anxious look. The change in her since last he had seen her troubled him greatly. Her round cheeks had fallen in, her old rosiness had given place to a greypallor. She stooped very much and looked shrunken too. 

"Oh, granny, do!" cried Mona, eagerly. It was almost the first time shehad spoken, but the mere suggestion filled her with overwhelming joy andrelief. 

"Then I could look in pretty often to see how you was, and bring you in abit of fresh fish as often as you would care to have it. Lucy would takea delight, too, in making 'ee that sort of thing, " nodding towards thejelly, "or anything else you fancied. We'd be at hand, too, to help 'eeif you wasn't very well. "

Granny Barnes was touched, and when she looked up there were tears in hereyes. The prospect was tempting. She had felt very forlorn and old, andhelpless lately. She had often felt too that she would like:

 "A little petting At life's setting. "

"It's good of you to think of it, Peter, " she said, hesitatingly. Then, fearing that he might have spoken on the impulse of the moment, and that she was showing herself too anxious for his help and Lucy's, she drew herself up. "But--well, this is _home_, and I don't fancy Icould settle down in a strange place, and amongst strangers, at my time oflife. "

"You'd be with those that are all you've got belonging to you in thisworld, " said Peter. But granny's mood had changed. She would not listento any more coaxing, and her son-in-law, seeming to understand her, changed the subject. 

Poor Mona, who did not understand so well, felt only vexed and impatientwith the poor perverse old woman, for not falling in at once with a planso delightful to herself. Mona learned to understand as time went on, but she was too young yet. 

"But, granny, it would be ever so much nicer than this dull old place, and--and you'd have mother as well as me to look after you. I likeSeacombe ever so much better than Hillside. Why won't you go, granny?"

Peter Carne groaned. Mona, by her tactlessness, was setting hergrandmother dead against such a plan, and undoing all the good he haddone. Granny Barnes would never be driven into taking a step, but shewould see things in her own time and in her own way, if she felt that noone was trying to force her. He held up his hand for silence. 

"Your grandmother knows best what'll suit her. It isn't what you like, it's what's best for her that we've all got to think about. "

But granny's anger had been roused. "It may be a dull old place, but it'shome, " she said sharply. "You can't understand what that means. You don't seem to have any particular feeling or you wouldn't be so readyto leave first one and then the other, without even a heartache. I wondersometimes, Mona, if you've got any heart. Perhaps it's best that youshouldn't have; you're saved a lot of pain. " Granny began to whimper alittle, to her son-in-law's great distress. "Anyway, you were readyenough to run to the 'dull old place' when you were in trouble, " she added, reproachfully, and Mona had no answer. 

She got up from the table, and, collecting the dishes together, carriedthem to the scullery. "Oh, dear!" she sighed, irritably, "I seem to bealways hurting somebody--and somebody's always hurting me. I'd better goabout with my mouth fastened up--even then I s'pose I'd be always doingsomething wrong. People are easily offended, it's something dreadful. "

She felt very much aggrieved. So much aggrieved that she gave only sullenwords and looks, and never once enquired for Lucy, or sent her a message, or even hinted at being sorry for what she had done. 

"She didn't send any message to me, " she muttered to herself, excusingly. "She never sent her love, or--or anything, so why should I send a messageto her?" She worked herself up into such a fine state of righteous angerthat she almost persuaded herself that her behaviour had been all that itshould be, and that she was the most misunderstood and ill-treated personin the whole wide world. 

In spite, though, of her being so perfect, she felt miserably unhappy, as she lay awake in the darkness, and thought over the day's happenings. She saw again her father's look of distress as she snapped at hergrandmother, and answered him so sulkily. She pictured him, too, walkingaway down the road towards home, without even a smile from her, and only acurt, sullen, good-bye! Oh, how she wished now that she had run after himand kissed him, and begged him to forgive her. 

A big sob broke from her as she pictured him tramping those long lonelymiles, his kind face so grave and pained, his heart so full ofdisappointment in her. 

"Oh how hateful he will think me--and I am, I am, and I can't tell him Idon't really mean to be, " and then her tears burst forth, and she cried, and cried until all the bitterness and selfishness were washed from herheart, and only gentler feelings were left. 

As she lay tired out, thinking over the past, and the future, a curious, long cry broke the stillness of the night. 

"The owl, " she said to herself. "I do wish he'd go away from here. He always frightens me with his miserable noise. " She snuggled moreclosely into her pillow, and drew the bedclothes up over her ear. "I'll try to go to sleep, then I shan't hear him. "

But, in spite of her efforts, the cry reached her again and again. "It can't be the owl, " she said at last, sitting up in bed, the better tolisten. "It sounds more like a person! Who can it be?"

Again the cry came, "Mo--na! Mo--o--na!"

"Why, it's somebody calling me. It must be granny! Oh, dear!Whatever can be the matter, to make her call like that. "

Shaking all over with fear, she scrambled out of bed, and groped her wayto the door. As she opened it the cry reached her again. 

"Mo--na!" This time there could be no doubt about it. It came from hergrandmother's room. 

"I'm coming!" she called loudly. "All right, granny, I'm coming. "She ran across the landing, guided by the lights shining through thechinks in her grandmother's door. 

"What's the matter?--are you feeling bad, granny? Do you want something?"

"Yes, I'm feeling very bad. I'm ill, I'm very ill--oh, dear, oh dear, what shall I do? Oh, I've no one to come and do anything for me. Oh, dear, oh what can I do?" Granny's groans were dreadful. Mona feltfrightened and helpless. She had not the least idea what to do or say. What did grown-ups do at times like this? she wondered. She did not knowwhere, or how, her grandmother suffered, and if she had she would not haveknown how to act. 

"Do you want me to fetch the doctor? I'll go and put on my clothes. I won't be more than a minute or two, then I'll come back again----"

"No--no, I can't be left alone all the time, I might die--here, alone;oh dear, oh dear, what a plight to be left in! Not a living creature tocome to me--but a child! Oh, how bad I do feel!"

"But I must do something, or call somebody, " cried Mona desperately. She had never seen serious illness before, and she was frightened. Poor old Mrs. Barnes had always been a bad patient, and difficult tomanage, even when her ailments were only trifling; now that she reallyfelt ill, she had lost all control. 

"Granny, " said Mona, growing desperate. "I must get someone to come andhelp us, you must have the doctor, and I can't leave you alone, I am goingto ask Mrs. Lane to come, I can't help it--I can't do anything else. I'll slip on my shoes and stockings, I won't be more than a minute. "

Granny Barnes stopped moaning, and raised herself on her elbow. "You'll do no such thing, " she gasped. 

"But granny, I must--you must have help, and you must have somebody to gofor the doctor, and--and, oh, granny, I'm afraid to be here alone, I don't know what to do, and you're looking so bad. "

"Am I?" nervously. "Well--if I've got to die alone and helpless, I will, but I won't ask Mrs. Lane to come to me. Do you think I'd--ask a favourof her, after all her unneighbourliness--not speaking to me for weeks andweeks----"

Mona burst into tears, confession had to come. "Granny, " she said, dropping on her knees beside the bed. "I--I've got to tell yousomething--Mrs. Lane was right----"

"What!" Granny's face grew whiter, but she said no more. If she had doneso, if she had but spoken kindly and helped her ever so little, it wouldhave made things much easier for poor Mona. 

"I--I--it was me that pulled the faggots down that night, and not Mrs. Lane's cats, and she won't look, or speak to me because I didn't tell, and I let her cats bear the blame. I--I didn't mean to do any harm, I wasin such a hurry to light up the fire, and the old things all rolled down, and I forgot to go out and pick them up again. I didn't think you'd begoing out there that night, but you went out, and--and fell over them. If you hadn't gone out it would have been all right, I'd have seen them inthe morning and have picked them up. "

But Granny Barnes was not prepared to listen to excuses, she was very, very angry. "And fine and foolish you've made me look all this time, Mona Carne, and risked my life too. For bad as I was a little while back, I wouldn't bring myself to ask Mrs. Lane to come to me, nor Cap'en Lane togo and fetch the doctor, and--and if I'd died, well, you know who wouldhave been to blame!"

Granny's cheeks were crimson now, and she was panting with exhaustion. "Now what you've got to do is--to go in--and tell her the truth yourself. "

"I'm going, " said Mona, the tears streaming down her face. But as shehurried to the door, the sight of her, looking so childlike and forlorn inher nightgown, with her tumbled hair and tear-stained face, touched hergrandmother's heart, and softened her anger. 

"Mona, " she cried, "come back--never mind about it now, child----"But Mona was already in her own room tugging on her shoes and stockings. Granny heard her come out and make her way stumbling down the stairs;she tried to call again, but reaction had set in, and she lay panting, exhausted, unable to do anything but listen. She heard Mona pulling backthe heavy wooden bolt of the front door, then she heard her footstepshurrying through the garden, growing more distant, then nearer as she wentup Mrs. Lane's path. Then came the noise of her knocking at Mrs. Lane'sdoor, first gently, then louder, and louder still--and then the exhausted, over-excited old woman fainted, and knew no more. 

Mona, standing in the dark at Mrs. Lane's door, was trembling all over. Even her voice trembled. When Mrs. Lane at last opened her window andcalled out "Who's there?" it shook so, she could not make herself hearduntil she had spoken three times. 

"It's me--Mona Carne. Oh, Mrs. Lane, I'm so frightened! Granny's veryill, please will you--come in?--I--I don't know what to do for her. "

"Mona Carne! Oh!" Mona heard the surprise in Mrs. Lane's voice, and feared she was going to refuse her. Then "Wait a minute, " she said, "I'll come down. "

Mona's tears stopped, but she still trembled. Help was coming to granny--but she still had her confession to make, and it seemed such an awfulordeal to face. All the time she stood waiting there under the stars, with the scent of the flowers about her, she was wondering desperately howshe could begin, what she could say, and how excuse herself. 

She was still absorbed, and still had not come to any decision, when thedoor behind her opened, and a voice said kindly, "Come inside, Mona, andtell me what is the matter, " and Mona stepped from the starlit night intothe warm, dimly lighted kitchen, and found herself face to face with herold kind friend. 

"Now, tell me all about it, " said Mrs. Lane again catching sight of Mona'sfrightened, disfigured face. "Why, how you are trembling, child, have youhad a shock? Were you in bed?"

Mona nodded. "Yes, I'd been in bed a good while when I heard a cry, such a funny kind of cry! At first I thought it must be the owl, but whenI heard it again and again I thought it must be granny, and I got up andwent to her. And, oh, I was frightened, she was lying all crumpled up inthe bed, and she was groaning something dreadful. She was very ill, shesaid, and she must have the doctor--but she wouldn't let me go to fetchhim, 'cause she was afraid to be left alone. I was frightened to be thereby myself, and I didn't know what to do for her and I said I'd run in andask you to come--but she said she'd rather die--she said I mustn'tbecause--because--oh you know, " gasped Mona, breathless after heroutpouring of words, "and--and then--I--told her--about--about that--that'twas me pulled down the faggots, and you were right, and she looked--ohshe looked dreadful, she was so angry! And then I came in to tell you;and, oh Mrs. Lane, I am so sorry I behaved so, I--I never meant to, I never meant Tom and Daisy to have the blame. And, please Mrs. Lane, will you forgive me, and speak to me again? I've been so--so mis'rubble, and I didn't know how to set things right again. " But here Mona's voicefailed her altogether, and, worn out with the day's events, and thenight's alarm, and all the agitation and trouble both had brought, she broke down completely. Mrs. Lane was quite distressed by the violenceof her sobs. 

"There, there, don't cry so, child, and don't worry any more, " she saidgently, putting her arm affectionately round Mona's shaking shoulders, "It's all over now! and we are all going to be as happy and friendly againas ever we used to be. Mona, dear, I am so glad, so thankful that youhave spoken. It hurt me to think that I had been deceived in you, but I know now that you were my own little Mona all the time. There, dear, don't cry any more; we must think about poor granny. Come along, we will see what we can do to help her. "

They stepped out into the starlit night, hand in hand, and though hergrandmother's illness filled Mona with anxiety, she felt as though a heavycare had been lifted from her heart, a meanness from her soul; and, as shehurried through the scented gardens, she lifted up her face to the starrysky, and her heart to the God who looked down on her through Heaven'seyes. 

In the house, when they reached it, all was as she had left it, exceptthat now a deep, deep silence reigned; a silence that, somehow, struck achill to both hearts. 

"How quiet it is! She was making such a noise before, " Mona whispered, hesitating nervously at the foot of the stairs. 

"I expect she has fallen asleep, I'll go up first and see; you light thelamp in the kitchen, and bring me up a glass of cold water. Or would yourather come with me?"

"I--I will come with you. " She could not rid herself of the feeling thather granny was dead--had died angry with her, at the last. She felt sureof it, too, when she saw her lying so still and white on her pillow. 

Mrs. Lane placed her hand over the tired, faintly-beating heart. "She is only faint, " she said assuringly, a note of intense relief in hervoice. "She is coming round. Run and fetch me some water, dear, and open that window as you pass. "

So granny, when she presently opened her eyes and looked about her, found Mona on one side of her and her old friend on the other; and bothwere looking at her with tender anxious eyes, and faces full of gladnessat her recovery. 

The old feud was as dead as though it had never existed. 

"It's like going to sleep in a world of worries and waking up in a newone. " The poor old soul sighed contentedly, as she lay with the starslooking in on her, and the scent of the flowers wafting up to her throughthe open window. "It was too bad, though, to be calling you up in thenight--out of your bed. I'm very much obliged to you, Mrs. Lane, I--I'm very glad to see you. "

"Not as glad as I am to come, I reckon, " her neighbour smiled back at her, "we are all going to start afresh again from to-day, ain't we? So it's aswell to begin the day early, and make it as long as we can!"

CHAPTER IX. 

Granny was much better, and was downstairs again, but she was weak andvery helpless still. She was sad too, and depressed. The last few weekshad shaken her confidence in herself, her spirit was strong enough still, but more than once lately her body had failed her. When, in her old way, she had said that she would do this, or that, or the other thing, she hadfound out after all, that she could not. Her body had absolutely refusedto obey her. 

"I ain't dependent on other folks yet!" she had said sharply, and hadafterwards found out that she was, and the discovery alarmed her. It saddened her, and broke her spirit. 

"I ought to be in a home. I'd rather be in one, or--or be dead, than be aburden on other folks, " she moaned. 

Granny was very hard to live with in those days. Even a grown-up wouldhave found it difficult to know what to say in answer to her complainings. 

"Granny, don't talk like that!" Mona would plead, and she would workharder than ever that there might be nothing for granny to do, or to findfault with. But however hard she worked, and however nice she keptthings, she always found that there were still some things left undone, and that those were the very things that, in granny's opinion, matteredmost. 

As for reading, or play-time, Mona never found any for either now, and oh, how often and how longingly her thoughts turned to the Quay, and to therocks, and the games that were going on there evening after evening!Sometimes it almost seemed that she could hear the laughter and the calls, the voice of the sea, the rattle of the oars in the rowlocks, the cries ofthe gulls, and then she would feel as though she could not bear to be awayfrom them all another moment. That she must race back to them then andthere; never, never to leave them any more!

The loneliness, and the hard work, and the confinement to the house toldon her. She became thin, the colour died out of her cheeks, and thegladness from her eyes, and all the life and joyousness seemed to go outof her. She grew, and grew rapidly, but she stooped so much she did notlook as tall as she really was. 

Granny Barnes, looking at her sweeping out the path one day, had her eyessuddenly opened, and the revelation startled her. She did not sayanything to Mona, she just watched her carefully, but she did not againblame her for laziness; and while she watched her, her thoughts travelledbackwards. A year ago Mona had been noisy, lively, careless, butcheerful, always full of some new idea. She had been round and rosy too, and full of mischief. Now she was listless, quiet, and apparentlyinterested in nothing. 

"Have you got a headache, Mona?"

"No, " said Mona indifferently, "I don't think so. "

"Is your back aching?"

"It always is. "

"Then why didn't you say so, child?"

"What's the good? The work has to be done. "

"If you're bad you must leave it undone. You can't go making yourselfill. "

"I ain't ill, and I'd sooner do the work. There's nothing else to do. "

"Can't you read sometimes? You used to be so fond of reading. "

"If I read I forget to do things, and then----" She was going to say"there's a row, " but she stopped herself just in time. "I've read all mybooks till I know them by heart nearly. " Even while she spoke she wasgetting out the ironing cloth, and spreading it on the table. The irons were already hot on the stove. 

Granny Barnes did not say any more, but sat for a long time gazing intothe fire, apparently deep in thought. Mona looking up presently, attracted by the silence, was struck by her weary, drooping look, by thesadness of the tired old eyes. But she did not say anything. Presently granny roused herself and looked up. "Put away your ironing, child, " she said kindly, "and go out and have a game of play. The airwill do you good. "

"I don't want to go out, granny. There's no one to play with--and I'mafraid to leave you; what could you do if you were to faint again?"

Granny sighed. The child was right. "I--I could knock in to Mrs. Lane, perhaps, " she said, but there was doubt in her voice, and she did notpress Mona any further. 

Mona went on with her ironing, and granny went on staring into the fire, and neither spoke again for some time. Not until Mona, going over to takeup a fresh hot iron, saw something bright shining on her grandmother'scheek, then fall on to her hand. 

"Are you feeling bad again, granny?" she asked anxiously. The sight ofthe tear touched her, and brought a note of sympathy into her voice, andthe sympathy in her voice in turn touched her granny, and drew bothtogether. 

"No--I don't know that I'm feeling worse than usual, but--but, well I feelthat it'd be a good thing if my time was ended. I'm only a trouble and aburden now--no more help for anybody. "

"Granny! Granny! You mustn't say such things!" Mona dropped her ironback on the stove again, and threw herself on the floor beside hergrandmother. "You mustn't talk like that! You're weak, that's all. You want to rest for a bit and have some tonics. Mrs. Lane says so. "

"Does she? I seem to want something, " leaning her weary head againstMona's, "but it's more than tonics--it's a new body that I'm needing, I reckon. I daresay it's only foolishness, but sometimes I feel like alittle child, I want to be took care of, and someone to make much of me, and say like mother used to, 'Now leave everything to me. I'll see to itall!' It seems to me one wants a bit of petting when one comes to the endof one's life, as much as one does at the beginning--I don't know but whata little is good for one at any age. "

Mona slipped down till she sat on the floor at her granny's feet, her headresting against granny's knee. "I think so too, " she said wistfully. Silence fell between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire withinand the buzz of insects, and the calling of the birds, outside in thegarden. 

"Mona, how would you like it if we went into Seacombe to live?"

Mona was up in a moment, her face alight with eagerness, but some instinctstopped her from expressing too much delight. In the softened feelingwhich had crept into her heart, she realised that to her grandmother themove would mean a great wrench. 

"She must love Hillside as much, or _nearly_ as much as I love Seacombe, "she told herself. Aloud she said, "I'd like it, but you wouldn't, wouldyou, granny?"

"I think I would. I'd like to be nearer your father, and--and you wouldbe happy there, and perhaps you'd feel stronger. I'm getting to feel, "she added after a little pause, "that one can be happy anywhere, if thoseabout one are happy. Or, to put it another way, one can't be happyanywhere if those about one ain't happy. "

Mona felt very guilty. "Granny, " she said, but in rather a choky voice, "I'll be happy here, if you'd rather stay here--I will really. I do loveHillside--it's only the sea I miss, and the fun, and--and the excitementwhen the boats come in--but I shall forget all about it soon, and I'll behappy here too, if you'd like to stay. "

She did try to put aside her own feelings, and speak cheerfully, and shesucceeded--but, to her surprise, her grandmother did not jump at heroffer. 

"No, child, I wouldn't rather stay. I'd like to go. I feel I want to benear my own, and your father and you are all I've got. I think I'll askhim if he can find a little house that'll suit us. "

"Won't you live with us, granny? You can have my room. "

But granny would not hear of that. "I've always had a home of my own, andI couldn't live in anybody else's, " she said decisively. "Yourstepmother's too much of an invalid herself too, to be able to look afteranother. "

"Then you'd want me to live with you?" asked Mona, with a little break inher voice. She was disappointed, but she tried not to show it. 

"Yes, dearie, " her eyes scanning Mona's face wistfully, "wouldn't you likethat?"

Mona hesitated for only a second, then "Yes, granny, I should, " she said, and then as the idea became more familiar, she said more heartily, "Yes, I'd love to, and oh, granny, if we could only get one of the littlehouses down by the Quay it would be lovely! I'm sure you'd like it----"

"I couldn't live down by the Quay, " granny interrupted sharply, "I wouldn't live there if a house was given me rent free. It is toonoisy, for one thing, and you feel every breath of wind that blows. "

"But you're close, when the boats come in----"

"Aye, and when they don't come in, " said granny. "I ain't so fond of thesea as you are, and I should never know any rest of mind down close by it. Every time the wind blew I'd be terrified. "

Mona looked vexed. "It isn't often that there's any place at all to let, "she said crossly. "If we don't take what we can get, we shall never go atall. "

But Granny Barnes was not alarmed. "Don't you trouble yourself aboutthat. Your father'll find us something for certain. He'd got his eye ona little place when he was here, he wanted me to take it then. I almostwish I had, now. Never mind, I'll write to him to-night or to-morrow. If I was well I would go in by John Darbie's van and have a look about formyself. "

All this sounded so much like business, that Mona sat up, all her glumnessfalling from her. When Granny Barnes once made up her mind to do a thing, she did not let the grass grow under her feet. There was, after all, muchof Mona's nature in her, and when once she had made up her mind to leaveher old home, it almost seemed as though she could not get away quicklyenough. 

Perhaps it was that she felt her courage might fail her if she gaveherself much time to think about things. Perhaps she felt she could notface the pain and the worry if she gave herself time to worry much. Or, it may have been that she really did feel anxious about Mona's healthand her own, and wanted to be settled in Seacombe as soon as possible. 

At any rate she so managed that within a fortnight all her belongings weremounted on to two of Mr. Dodd's waggons and were carried off to the newhome, while she and Mona followed in John Darbie's van, seen off by Mrs. Lane. Mrs. Lane was very tearful and sad at parting with them. 

"I know it's for the best for both of you--but I feel as if I can't bearthe sight nor the thought of the empty home. " Then she kissed them both, and stood in the road in the sunshine, waving her hand to them till theywere out of sight. 

"Wave your handkerchief to her, Mona; blow another kiss to her, child. "But granny kept her own head turned away, and her eyes fixed on the bit ofwhite dusty road which lay ahead of them. Neither could she bear thesight of the empty house, nor of the neighbour she was leaving. 

Mona's eyes were full of tears, but granny's were dry, though her sorrowwas much deeper than Mona's. John Darbie tactfully kept his tongue quiet, and his eyes fixed on the scenery. He understood that his old friend wassuffering, and would want to be left alone for a while. So, for the firstpart of the way, they jogged along in silence, except for the scrunchingof the gravel beneath the wheels, and the steady thud, thud of the oldhorse's hoofs, Granny Barnes looking forward with sad stern eyes, and aheart full of dread; Mona looking back through tears, but with hope in herheart; the old driver staring thoughtfully before him at the familiar way, along which he had driven so many, old and young; happy and sad, somewilling, some unwilling, some hopeful, others despondent. The old manfelt for each and all of them, and helped them on their way, as far as hemight travel it with them, and sent many a kind thought after them, whichthey never knew of. 

"I suppose, " he said at last, speaking his thoughts aloud, "in everychange we can find some happiness. There's always something we can do forsomebody. So far as I can see, there's good to be got out of mostthings. "

Mrs. Barnes' gaze came back from the wide-stretching scene beside her, andrested enquiringly on the old speaker. "Do 'ee think so?" she askedeagerly. "'Tis dreadful to be filled with doubts about what you'redoing, " she added pathetically. 

"Don't 'ee doubt, ma'am. Once you've weighed the matter and looked at itevery way, and have at last made up your mind, don't you let yourselfharbour any doubts. Act as if you hadn't got any choice, and go straightahead. "

"But how is anyone to know? It may be that one took the way 'cause it wasthe easiest. "

"Very often it's the easiest way 'cause it's the way the Lord has openedfor us, " said the old man simply, and with perfect faith. "Then I countit we're doubting Him if we go on questioning. "

The look of strained anxiety in Granny Barnes' eyes had already given wayto one more peaceful and contented. 

"I hadn't thought of that, " she said softly, and presently she added, "Ittakes a load off one's mind if one looks at it that way. "

Mona, who had been listening too, found John Darbie's words repeatingthemselves over and over again in her mind. "There's always something wecan do--there's good to be got out of most things. " They set themselvesto the rhythm of the old horse's slow steps--"There is always something--there is always something--we can do--we can do, there is always somethingwe can do. "

Throughout that long, slow journey on that sunshiny day they rang in herhead, and her heart chanted them. And though in the years that followedshe often forgot her good resolutions, and many and many a time did wrongand foolish things, knowing them to be wrong and foolish, though she letherself be swayed by her moods, when she should have fought against them, she never entirely forgot old John Darbie's simple, comforting words, northe lesson they had taught her that day, and unconsciously they helped heron her life's road, just as he himself helped her along her road to hernew home. 

There was indeed a great deal that she could do, as she discoveredpresently, when the van deposited them and their parcels at the door oftheir new home, for the furniture had arrived but a couple of hoursearlier, and though her father and the man had lifted most of the heavierthings into their places, and Lucy had done all that she could to make thelittle house look habitable, there was much that Mona, knowing hergrandmother's ways as well as she did, could do better than anyone else. 

As soon as the van drew near, Lucy was at the door to greet them, and inthe warmth and pleasure of her welcome, Mona entirely forgot thecircumstances under which they had last parted: and it never once occurredto her to think how different their meeting might have been had Lucy notbeen of the sweet-tempered forgiving nature that she was. 

Lucy had forgotten too. She only remembered how glad she was to have themthere, and what a trying day it must have been for poor old Granny Barnes. And when, instead of the stern, cold, complaining old woman that she hadexpected, she saw a fragile, pale-faced little figure, standing lookingforlorn, weary, and half-frightened on the path outside her new home, Lucy quite forgot her dread of her, and her whole heart went out insympathy. 

Putting her arms round her, she kissed her as warmly as though it had beenher own mother, and led her tenderly into the house. 

"Don't you trouble about a single thing more, granny, there are plenty ofus to see to everything. The fire is burning, and your own armchair isput by it, and all you've got to do is to sit there till you're rested andtell us others what you'd like done. "

Granny Barnes did not speak, but Lucy understood. She took up the pokerand stirred the coals to a more cheerful blaze. "It's a fine little stoveto burn, " she said cheerfully, "and it is as easy as possible to light. "

Granny was interested at once, "Is it? How beautiful and bright it is. Did you do that, Lucy?"

Lucy nodded. "I love polishing up a stove, " she said with a smile, "it repays you so for the trouble you take. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, I used to spend hours over mine, but I don't seem to have thestrength now. Mona does very well though. Where's Peter? Out fishing?"

"No, he's upstairs putting up your bed. He has nearly done. Mona's is upalready. You've got a sweet little room, Mona. You'll love it, I know. "

Mona ran upstairs at once to inspect. She was bubbling over withexcitement and happiness. Her room was, she knew, at the back of thehouse, so she went to it straight. It was in a great muddle, of course, but the bed was in place, and the chest of drawers. The walls had beennewly papered, the paper had little bunches of field daisies all over it, white and red-tipped, each bunch was tied with a blade of green grass. Mona thought it perfectly exquisite, but it was the window which took herfancy captive. It was a lattice window, cut deep in the wall, and beforeit was a seat wide enough for Mona to sit in--and beyond the window wasthe sea!

"I'll be able to sit there, and read, and sew, and watch the boats goingby, " she thought delightedly, "and I'll have little muslin curtains tiedback with ribbons, and a flounce of muslin across the top. Oh, I shalllove it up here! I shall never want to go out. It's nicer even than myroom at father's, and ever so much nicer than the 'Hillside' one!"

A sound of hammering and banging came from the other side of the tinylanding. 

"That must be father, putting up granny's bed, " she hurried out, andacross to him. He had just finished, and was pushing the bed into place. Two great bundles tied up in sheets filled up most of the rest of thefloor. One held Granny Barnes' feather-tie, the other her pillow-cases, sheets and blankets. 

"I do hope your grandmother'll be well and comfortable here, " he saidanxiously, "and happy. If it rests with us to make her so, she shall be. Mona, you'd better make up her bed soon. Don't leave it for her to doherself. She'll most likely be glad to go to bed early to-night, she mustbe tired. There's no moving round the room, either, with those greatbundles there. I'll lift the feather-tie on to the bed for you. "

"All right--in a minute, father. "

Granny's bedroom window looked out on the hill. Further up the hill, onthe opposite side, was Cliff Cottage. It could be just seen from granny'snew home. How small and strange it all looked, thought Mona, and hownarrow the hill was, but how homelike and beautiful. 

While she gazed out Millie Higgins and Philippa Luxmore appeared, theywere coming down the hill together. Millie had on a pink dress almostexactly like Mona's. 

"Why--why, she's copied me!" thought Mona indignantly, a wave of hot angersurging up in her heart. "She's a regular copy-cat! She can't think of athing for herself, but directly anyone else has it, she must go and copythem. I'd be ashamed if I was her. Now I shan't like my pink frock anymore!"

As though attracted by the gaze on her, Millie looked up at the window, and straight into Mona's eyes, but instead of feeling any shame, she onlylaughed. She may not have remembered her own frock, or Mona's, she wasprobably not laughing at Mona's annoyance, it is very likely that she wasamused at something she and Philippa were talking about, but Mona thoughtotherwise, and only glared back at her with angry, contemptuous eyes. She saw Millie's face change, and saw her whisper in Philippa's ear, then she heard them both laugh, and her heart was fuller than ever ofhatred, and mortification. Mortification with herself partly, forallowing Millie to see that she was vexed. 

Oh, how she wished now, that instead of letting Millie see how she hadannoyed her, she had acted as though she did not notice, or did not mind. 

"Mona, give me a hand here a minute, will you?" Her father's voice brokein on her musings, "that rope is caught round the bedpost. "

Mona went over, and released the rope, but returned again to the window. 

"If you don't bustle round, little maid, we shall never be done, " said herfather. "I want to get it all as right as I can before I go, or yourgrand-mother'll be doing it herself, and making herself ill again. You can look out of window another day, there'll be plenty of time forthat. "

"I'm tired, " grumbled Mona sulkily, "I can't be always working. "

Her father straightened his back, and looked at her. His eyes werereproachful and grieved. Mona's own eyes fell before them. Already shewas sorry that she had spoken so. She did not feel in the least as shehad said she did. She was put out about Millie, and Millie's frock, thatwas all. 

"Mona, my girl, " he said gravely, "you put me in mind of a weather-cock ina shifty wind. Nobody can tell for half an hour together what quarterit'll be pointing to. 'Tis the shifty wind that does the most mischiefand is hardest to bear with. When you came in just now, I'd have said youwere pointing straight south, but a few minutes later you've veered rightround to the north-east. What's the meaning of it, child? What's thematter with 'ee. It doesn't give 'ee much pleasure to know you'respoiling everybody else's, does it?"

Mona gulped down her tears. "No--o, I--I--it was Millie Higgins' fault. She's been and got a dress----" And then she suddenly felt ashamed ofherself, and ashamed to repeat anything so petty, and she gulped again, and this time she swallowed her bad temper too. "No--I'm--I'm 'set fair'now, father!" she added, and, though there was a choke in her voice, as though her temper was rather hard to swallow, there was a smile in hereyes, and in a very little while granny's feather-bed was shaken up assoft and smooth as ever granny herself could have made it, and the bed wasmade up. And then by degrees everything in the room was got into placejust as its mistress liked it, so that when granny came up later on andsaw her new room, she exclaimed aloud in pleased surprise:

"Why, it looks like home already, " she cried, "and that's our Mona'sdoing, I know!"

CHAPTER X. 

Mona sat reading, curled upon the window seat in her bedroom. She spent agreat deal of her time there. Sometimes sewing, but more often eitherreading, or looking out at the view. For a few days she had been busymaking curtains for her window, and a frill to go across the top, and, as granny had firmly refused to buy wide pink ribbon to fasten back thecurtains, Mona had hemmed long strips of some of the print left over fromher own pink dress. 

But all this was done now, and Mona was very proud of her handiwork. The frill was a little deeper on one side than the other, but that was atrifle. Mona thought that the whole effect was very smart; so smart, indeed, that she sometimes wished that her window was in the front of thehouse, so that people going up and down the hill might see it. "But I s'pose one can't have everything, " she concluded, with a sigh. 

Granny's window, which did look out on the hill, was anything but smart, for she had had neither time nor strength to make her curtains, and Monahad not offered to make them for her. 

Granny had gone up to Lucy's that very afternoon, and taken them with her, hoping to work at them a little while she talked. She often went up tosit with Lucy. Perhaps she found it dull at home, with Mona always shutup in her own room. Lucy's garden delighted her too. She had noneherself that could compare with it. In the front there was a tiny patchclose under her window, and there was a long strip at the back, but only avery few things had the courage to grow there, for the wind caught it, andthe salt sea-spray came up over it, and blighted every speck of green thathad the courage to put its head out. Lucy's garden and Lucy's kitchenboth delighted her. She said the kitchen was more cheerful than hers, but it was really Lucy's presence that made it so. Lucy was always sopleased to see her, so ready to listen to her stories, or to tell her own, if granny was too tired to talk. She always listened to her advice, too, which was quite a new experience to Mrs. Barnes. 

This afternoon, while granny was talking, and taking a stitchoccasionally, Lucy picked up the other curtain and made it. It was not avery big matter; all the windows in Seacombe houses were small. Then sheput on the kettle, and while it was boiling she took the other curtainfrom granny's frail hand and worked away at that too. The weather washot, and the door stood wide open, letting in the mingled scents of themany sweet flowers which filled every foot of the garden. A sweet-brierbush stood near the window, great clumps of stocks, mignonette andverbenas lined the path to the gate. 

"I didn't mean to stay to tea, " said granny, realizing at last that Lucywas preparing some for her. "I was going to get home in time. "

"Mona won't have got it, will she?"

"Oh, no, she won't think about it, I expect. She has got a book, and whenshe's reading she's lost to everything. I never knew a child so fond ofreading. "

"You spoil her, granny! You let her have her own way too much. "

Then they both laughed, for each accused the other of 'spoiling' Mona. 

"I don't like her to work too hard, " said granny. "She'd got to look verythin and delicate. I think she's looking better, though, don't you?"

"Yes, ever so much, " Lucy reassured her, and granny's face brightened. 

Mona, meanwhile, went on reading, lost, as granny said, to everything buther book. She did not even look out to sea. She heard no sound either inthe house or out. Heart and mind she was with the people of the story. She was living their life. 

The baker came and knocked two or three times; then, opening the door, put a loaf on the table, and went away. Then presently came moreknocking, and more, but none of it reached Mona's brain. She was flyingwith the heroine, and enjoying hairbreadth escapes, while running awayfrom her wicked guardian, when her bedroom door was flung open, and MillieHiggins--not the wicked guardian--appeared on the threshold. 

Mona gave a little cry of alarm, then immediately grew angry with herselffor having let Millie see that she had startled her. 

"What are you doing up here?" she demanded, bluntly. "Who told you tocome up? Granny isn't in, is she?"

Millie laughed. "If your grandmother had been in I should have been atthe other end of the street by this time. I've no fancy for facingdragons in their caves. "

"Don't be rude, " retorted Mona, colouring with anger. Millie alwayslaughed at Mrs. Barnes, because she was old-fashioned in her dress andways. "How did you get in, and why did you come? If granny didn't sendyou up, you'd no right to come. It's like your cheek, Millie Higgins, togo forcing your way into other people's houses!"

"It's like your carelessness to shut yourself up with a story-book andleave your front door open. I ain't the first that has been in!Wouldn't your grandmother be pleased if she knew how trustworthy her dear, good little Mona was. "

Mona looked frightened, and Millie noticed it. "What do you mean, Millie?"

Millie had seen the baker come, knock, open the door, and leave againafter depositing a loaf on the table. She had also seen Mrs. Barnescomfortably settled in Lucy Carne's kitchen, and she determined to havesome fun. She loved teasing and annoying everyone she could. 

"Come down and see what they've done. At any rate, you might be civil toanyone who comes in to warn you before any more harm is done. "

Mona, still looking alarmed, slipped from the window-seat and followedMillie down the stairs. 

While she stood at the foot of them, glancing about her anxiously, Milliestepped over and shut the house door. 

"Where?--What?--I don't see anything wrong, " said Mona. Millie burst intomocking laughter. "I don't suppose you do! Silly-billy, cock-a-dilly, how's your mother, little Mona! Why, how stupid you are! Anyone can get arise out of you! I only wanted to frighten you and get you downstairs. You're going to ask me to tea now, and give me a nice one, too, aren'tyou?"

Mona was trembling with mortification and anger. "No, I am not, " shesaid, "and if you don't go out of here in a minute I'll--I'll----"

"Oh, no--you won't, dear. You couldn't if you wanted to--but you don'treally want to, I know. Now poke up the fire and get me some tea. I hope you have something nice to eat. "

Mona stood by the dressers, her thoughts flying wildly through her brain. What could she do? Millie was taller, older, and stronger than herself, so she could not seize her, and put her out by force. Mona knew, too, that she would not listen to pleading or to coaxing. 

"Oh, if only someone would come!" She made a move towards the door, butMillie was too quick for her, and got between her and it. 

"Millie, you've got to go away. You'll get me into an awful row if youare found here, and--and I can't think how you can push yourself in whereyou ain't wanted. "

"Oh, fie! Little girls shouldn't be rude--it shows they haven't beenproperly brought up. "

Mona did not answer. She was trying to think what she could do. If shewent out of the house would Millie follow?

Millie picked up a newspaper, and pretended to read it, but over the topof it she was watching Mona all the time. She loved teasing, and shethought she had power to make younger girls do just as she wished. But Mona stood leaning against the dressers, showing no sign of giving in. 

Millie grew impatient. "Wake up, can't you!" she cried, and, picking up acushion from an armchair beside her, she threw it across the room at Mona. "I want my tea!"

The cushion flew past Mona without touching her, but it fell full crashagainst the china on the dressers behind her. Mona screamed, and tried tocatch what she could of the falling things. Cups, plate, jugs camerolling down on the top of those below. What could one pair of smallhands do to save them!

The set, a tea-set, and her grandmother's most treasured possession, hadbeen kept for a hundred years without a chip or a crack. It had been hergrandmother's and her great-grandmother's before that. 

Mona, white to the lips, and trembling, stood like an image of despair. Her hands were cut, but she did not notice that. Millie was pale, too, and really frightened, though she tried to brazen it out. "Now there'llbe a fine old row, and you will be in it, Mona Carne. It was all yourfault, you know. "

But Mona felt no fear for herself yet. She could think of nothing but hergrandmother's grief when she learned of the calamity which had befallenher. Somebody had to break the news to her, too, and that somebody wouldhave to be herself. Mona leaned her elbows on the dressers amongst thebroken china and, burying her face in her hands, burst into a torrent oftears. 

Millie spoke to her once or twice, but Mona could not reply. "Well, ifshe won't open her lips, I might as well go, " thought Millie, and, creeping out of the front door, she hurried away down the hill, only toodelighted to have got away so easily. 

Mona heard her go, but made no effort to stop her. She felt too utterlymiserable even to reproach her. 

Presently other footsteps came to the door, followed by a gentle knocking. Mona, in consternation, straightened herself and wiped her eyes. "Who can it be? I can't go to the door like this!" Her face was crimson, and her eyes were nearly closed, they were so swelled. 

The knock was repeated. "Mona, may I come in?" It was Patty Row's voice. Mona was fond of Patty, and she had begun to long for sympathy and advice. 

"Cub id, " she called out as well as she could. "Cub id, Paddy. "Patty opened the door. "What a dreadful cold you've got, " she said, sympathetically. "I've just seen your grandmother, and she asked me totell you she's having tea with Lucy. " Mona turned and faced her. 

"Why!--Why! Mona! Oh, my! Whatever is the matter?"

Mona's tears began again, nearly preventing her explanation. "Millie Higgins came in, and--and got teasing me, and--and----"

"I've just seen her hurrying home, " cried Patty. "I thought she came outfrom here. What has she done, Mona? She's always bullying somebody. "

"She--she threw the cushion at me, 'cause--'cause I didn't get her sometea, and--oh, Patty, what shall I do?--just look at what she has done. That tea-set was more than a hundred years old, and--and granny thinks theworld of it--and I've got to tell her. " Mona's voice rose to a pitifulwail. "Oh, my. I wish--I wish I was dead. I wish----"

"That'd only be another great trouble for her to bear, " said wise littlePatty, soberly. "Millie ought to tell her, of course. It's her doing. P'raps that is where she has gone. "

Mona shook her head. She had no hope of Millie's doing that. 

"Well, " said Patty, in her determined little way, "if she doesn't itshan't be for want of being told that she ought to. "

"She'll never do it, " said Mona, hopelessly. "I'll have to bear theblame. I can't sneak on Millie, and--and so granny'll always think I didit. "

Patty pursed up her pretty lips. "Will she?" she thought to herself. "She won't if I can help it, " but she did not say so aloud. "Let's sortit out, and see how much really is broken, " she said, lifting off thefatal cushion. "P'raps it isn't as bad as it looks. "

Mona shook her head despondently. "It sounded as if every bit wassmashed. There's one cup in half, and a plate with a piece out--no, thosejugs were common ones, they don't matter so much, " as Patty picked up acouple, one with its handle off, the other all in pieces. "Here's a cupwithout any handle--oh, poor granny, it'll break her heart, and--andshe'll never forgive me. I don't see how she can. Oh, Patty!Did anybody in all the world ever have such a trouble before?"

"I shouldn't be surprised, " said Patty. "There, that's the lot, Mona. It's bad enough, but not so bad as it seemed at first. There's two cups, a plate, and a saucer of the set broken. Two jugs, a basin, and a plateof the common things. "

She put the broken bits of the tea-set on the table, and began to arrangewhat was left on the dressers, so as to conceal the painful gaps. "There, it doesn't look so dreadful now. What had we better do next, Mona?"

Mona turned away and dropped into granny's big chair. "I--I've got totell her, that's what I'd better do next!" she cried. She flung her armsout on the table, and buried her face in them, sobbing aloud in hermisery. 

Patty, alarmed at her grief, went over and put her arms around her shakingshoulders. "Mona!--Mona, dear, don't cry so. You'll be ill. I'll go andtell Mrs. Barnes about it, and--and I'll tell her it wasn't your fault. "

A slight sound made them both look towards the door--and they saw thatthere was no longer any need for anyone to break the news. Granny Barnesknew it already. 

For what seemed to the two girls minutes and minutes, no one uttered aword. Granny with wide eyes and stricken face, stood staring at herbroken treasures, and the two girls stared at granny. All three faceswere tragic. At last she came slowly forward, and took up one of thebroken pieces. Her poor old hands were shaking uncontrollably. 

Mona sprang to her, and flung her arms about her. "Oh, granny, granny, what can I do? It--was an accident--I mean, I couldn't help it. Oh, I'd sooner anything had happened to me than to your tea-set. "

Patty Row slipped out of the house, and gently closed the door behind her. She had meant to stay and speak up for Mona, but something told her thatthere would be no need for that. 

Poor Mrs. Barnes dropped heavily into her seat. "I wouldn't then, dear. There's worse disasters than--than broken china. "

Mona's sobs ceased abruptly. She was so astonished at her grandmother'smanner of taking her trouble, she could scarcely believe her senses. "But I--I thought you prized it so, granny--above everything?"

"So I did, " said granny, pathetically. "I think I prized it too much, but when you get old, child, and--and the end of life's journey is insight, you--you--well, somehow, these things don't seem to matter so much. 'Tis you will be the loser, dearie. When I'm gone the things will beyours. I've had a good many years with my old treasures for company, so I can't complain. "

Mona stood looking at her grandmother with a dawning fear on her face. "Granny, you ain't ill, are you? You don't feel bad, do you?"

Mrs. Barnes shook her head. "No, I ain't ill, only a bit tired. It's just that the things that used to matter don't seem to, now, and those that--that, well, those that did seem to me to come second, they matter most--they seem to be the only ones that matter at all. "

Patty Row had done well to go away and leave the two alone just then. Granny, with a new sense of peace resting on her, which even the loss ofher cherished treasures could not disturb, and Mona, with a strangeseriousness, a foreboding of coming trouble on her, which awakened herheart to a new sympathy. 

"Why, child, how you must have cried to swell your eyes up like that. "Granny, rousing herself at last out of a day-dream, for the first timenoticed poor Mona's face. "Isn't your head aching?"

"Oh, dreadfully, " sighed Mona, realizing for the first time how acute thepain was. 

"Didn't I see Patty here when I came in? Where has she gone?"

"I don't know. "

"Patty didn't break the things, did she?"

"Oh, no. "

"Did she tell you what she came about?"

"To tell me you were having tea with mother. "

"But there was more than that. She came to ask if you'd go to SundaySchool with her on Sunday. Her teacher told her to ask you. You used togo, didn't you? Why have you given it up?"

Mona nodded, but she coloured a little. "I thought the girls--all knewabout--about my running away. "

"I don't think they do--but I don't see that that matters. You'd like togo again, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I'd like to go with Patty. Miss Lester's her teacher, and they'vegot a library belonging to their class. You can have a book every week tobring home. " Mona's face grew quite bright, but a faint shadow had creptover granny's. 

"You read a lot, Mona. So many stories and things ain't good for you. Do you ever read your Bible?"

Mona looked surprised. "N--no. I haven't got it here. It's up atLucy's. "

Mrs. Barnes groaned. "Oh, child, to think of our not having a Bible inthe house between us!"

"There's the Fam'ly Bible back there, " said Mona, quickly, feelingsuddenly that a house without a Bible in it was not safe. 

"Yes--but it's never opened, not even to look at the pictures. If you hadone in every room in the house you wouldn't be any the better for it ifyou never read them, and--and acted 'pon what you're taught there. "

"But if you can't see to read, " said Mona, trying to find excuses, "what's the good of your having a Bible?"

"But you can see, and can read too, and I could till lately, and, anyway, you can read to me, and that's what I ought to have got you to do. I feel I haven't done my duty by you, child. "

Mona threw up her head. "I don't s'pose we're any worse than some thatread their Bibles every day, " she said, complacently. She had often heardothers say that, and thought it rather fine. 

"That's not for you or me to say, " retorted granny sternly. "That's theexcuse folks always bring out when they ain't ashamed of themselves, butought to be. If we ain't any worse, we ain't any better, and until we arewe've no right to speak of others; and if we are--why, we shouldn't thinkof doing so. Most folks, though, who say that, do think themselves a dealbetter than others, though they don't say so in as many words. "

Mona stood staring into the fire, thinking matters over. She was very aptto take things to herself, and she was trying to assure herself that shenever did think herself better than others--not better even than MillieHiggins. But she was not very well satisfied with the result. 

Granny's voice died away, the sun went down, and the room began to growdim. Two lumps of coal fell together, and, bursting into a blaze, rousedMona from her reverie. She turned quickly, and found her grandmothergazing at the two halves of the broken tea-cup which she held in herhands. In the light of the fire tears glistened on her cheeks. 

Mona felt a sudden great longing to comfort her, to make life happier forher. "Granny, would you have liked me to have read some of my books toyou sometimes?"

"Very much, dearie. I always loved a nice story. "

"Oh--why ever didn't you say so before. " The words broke from Mona like acry of reproach. "I didn't know, I never thought--I thought you'd thinkthem silly or--or--something. "

"I know--it wasn't your fault. Sometimes I think it'd be better if weasked more of each other, and didn't try to be so independent. It's thosethat you do most for that you care most for--and miss most when they'regone!" added granny, half under her breath. 

Once again Mona was struck by the curious change in granny's tone andmanner, and felt a depressing sense of foreboding. 

"Would you like me to read to you now, granny? Out of--of the Bible?"She hesitated, as though shy of even speaking the name. 

"Yes, dearie, I'd dearly love to hear the 86th Psalm. "

Mona hurriedly lifted the big book out from under the mats and odds andends that were arranged on its side. She had never read aloud from theBible before, and at any other time her shyness would have almost overcomeher. To-day, though, she was possessed with a feeling that in the Bibleshe would perhaps find something that would rouse and cheer granny, andcharm her own fears away, and she was in a hurry to get it and begin. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Patty found Millie Higgins down on the Quay, where she was shouting andlaughing with five or six others who were playing 'Last Touch. 'No one would have guessed that she had left two sad and aching hearts anda ruined treasure behind her but half an hour ago. 

Patty, with a growing scorn in her eyes, stood by talking to PhilippaLuxmore until the game had finished. She meant not to lose sight ofMillie until she had had her say. Millie caught sight of Patty, though, and dashed into another game without any pause. She did not know thatPatty had come especially to speak to her, but she did not want to haveanything to say to Patty--not for a while, at any rate. She would ratherwait until the events of the afternoon had been forgotten a little. 

Patty guessed, though, what her purpose was, and, after she had waited foranother game to end, she went boldly up to her. 

"Millie, " she said, without any beating about the bush, "I've come to askyou to go and tell Mrs. Barnes that it was you that broke her beautifultea-set. "

Millie coloured, but she only laughed contemptuously. The rest of thelittle crowd looked on and listened, open-mouthed. "Dear me! Have youreally, Miss Poll Pry! Well, now you have asked me you can go home again, and attend to your own affairs. We don't want you here. "

Patty took no notice of her rudeness. "Millie, " she pleaded, "you willtell? You won't let Mona bear the blame. "

"I don't know what you're talking about----"

"Oh, yes, you do. I saw you come out. I mean, I thought that was whereyou came from. I was just going in to speak to Mona myself, and I foundher----"

"Mona Carne's a sneak. "

"No, she isn't. "

"Well, she needn't tell her grandmother that she knows anything about it. It might have been the wind blew the things over, or a cat. If I was MonaI'd go out to play, and let her come in and find the things. "

"Mona couldn't be so mean and underhand. Mrs. Barnes knows about italready, too. "

"Then there's no need for me to tell her, " retorted Millie, dancing away. "Ta-ta, Patty-preacher. "

Patty's patience gave out, she could not hide her disgust any longer. 

"Millie Higgins, I knew you were a bully and a coward, but I didn't knowhow mean a coward you were. "

Her voice rang out shrill with indignation, attracting the attention ofeveryone around. The children stopped their play to stare; two or threepeople stopped their talk to listen. They looked from Patty to Millie, and back again in shocked surprise. Patty's voice was not so much angryas it was contemptuous, disgusted. Millie could have better borne anger. People would then have thought Patty merely a cross child, and have passedon. Instead of that they looked at her sympathetically, and at Millieaskance. 

Millie walked away with her head in the air, but she was furious. "I'll pay her out!" she thought. "I'll pay her out yet!" She was soangry she could not get out a retort to Patty. Her words seemed to catchin her throat and choke her. 

Patty walked away to the end of the Quay, and leaned out over therailings, looking towards the sea. She was disheartened and angry, and ashamed of herself. She was horribly ashamed of having called outlike that to Millie. It was a mean, common thing to do. She felt shewanted to get out of sight, to escape the questions and chatter they wouldpour into her ears. She would wait where she was until everyone else hadgone home. If anyone followed her, they would soon go away again whenthey found she would not talk to them. 

She got behind a tall stack of boxes, and turned her back on everyone. Her face was turned to the sea; her eyes gazed at the heaving waters, and the sun setting behind them, but her thoughts were with Mona. 

"How she did cry, poor Mona! I didn't know she cared for her granny somuch. " Then she wondered what they were doing at that moment, and howMrs. Barnes was taking her loss. By degrees the sun disappearedaltogether, and twilight began to creep over her world. Gradually thesounds of play and laughter and gossiping voices ceased. One by one oldfolks and young went home. 

"I'd better go too, " thought Patty, "or mother will be wondering where Iam. Oh, dear, there's my bootlace untied again!" Still standing close tothe edge of the Quay, she had stooped to tie the lace when, suddenly frombehind, she received a blow in the back which sent her completely off herbalance. Reeling forward, she grabbed wildly at the rail to try and saveherself, but missed it, and with a shriek of terror she fell over the edgeand into the water below. With another shriek she disappeared, and thewater closed over her. 

Whence the blow came, or how, she had not time to think. It seemed to heras though the sky had fallen and struck her. She did not hear another crywhich broke from someone's throat as her body disappeared, nor hear or seeMillie Higgins running as though the police were already after her. 

Millie's first instinct was to get as far from the scene as possible. No one must know that she had been anywhere near the fatal spot. Then, fortunately, better and less selfish thoughts came to her. Patty was there alone in the deep cold water, in the dimness, fighting forher life. If help did not come to her quickly she would die--and who wasthere to help but herself?

"Patty!" she called. "Patty! Where are you?" Her voice rose high andshrill with terror. "Oh, Patty, do speak!"

Then up through the water came a small, dark head and white face, andthen, to Millie's intense relief, a pair of waving arms. 

She was not dead, and she was conscious. "Oh, thank God!" moaned Millie, and for perhaps the first time in her life she really thanked Him, andsent up a real prayer from the depths of her heart. 

"Patty, " she called, "swim towards me. I'll help you. "

Poor Patty heard her, but as one speaking in a dream, for her senses werefast leaving her. Summoning up all the strength she had, she tried toobey, but she had only made a few strokes when she suddenly dropped herarms and sank again. 

With a cry of horror and despair, Millie rushed down and into the water. She could not swim, but she did not think of that now. Nothing elsemattered if she could but save Patty. She waded into the water until shecould scarcely touch the bottom with her feet. A big wave came rollingin; one so big that it seemed as though it must carry her off her feet, and away to sea. 

It came, but it lifted her back quite close to the steps, and it broughtpoor little unconscious Patty almost close to her feet. 

Millie reached out and grabbed her by her hair and her skirt, and grippedher tight, but it was not easy. Patty was a dead weight, and she had tokeep her own foothold or both would have been carried away as the wavereceded. Millie felt desperate. She could not raise Patty, heavy as shewas in her water-soaked clothes, and Patty, still unconscious, could nothelp herself. 

Fortunately, at that moment, Peter Carne came rowing leisurely homewards, and in his boat with him was Patty Row's father. 

Millie caught sight of them, and a great sob of relief broke from her. She shouted and shouted at the top of her voice, and, clinging to Pattywith one hand, she waved the other frantically. "Would they see?Would they see?" She screamed until she felt she had cracked her throat. "Oh, what a noise the sea made!" she thought frantically, "how couldanyone's voice get above it. "

They heard or caught sight of her at last. Her straining eyes saw theboat heading for them. She saw Patty's father spring up and wave to them, then seize another pair of oars, and pull till the lumbering great boatseemed to skim the waves. Then strong arms gripped them and lifted theminto safety, and a moment or two later they were on the Quay once more, and hurrying homewards. 

Before she had been in her father's arms for many minutes Patty opened herbig blue eyes, and looked about her wonderingly. 

"Where--am--I?" she asked, through her chattering teeth. 

"You're in your old dad's arms now, " said her father, brokenly, but withan attempt at a smile, "but you'll be rolled up in blankets in a fewminutes, and popped into bed. It's where you have been that matters most. How did you come to be taking a dip at this time, little maid, and withyour boots on too?"

"I fell in, " whispered Patty, and closed her eyes again as the tiresomefaintness crept over her. 

"It was my fault, " sobbed Millie, thoroughly subdued and softened, and slightly hysterical too. "I--I didn't mean to push her into thewater----"

"It was an accident, " said Patty, coming back out of her dreaminess. "I was stooping down--and overbalanced--that was all. I was tying up myboot-lace. " And as she insisted on this, and would say nothing more, everyone decided that there was nothing more to say; and, as she hadreceived no real injury, and was soon out and about again, the matter wasgradually forgotten--by all, at least, but the two actors in what mighthave been an awful tragedy. 

Patty received no real injury, but it was a very white and tired littlePatty who called on Mona on the following Sunday to go with her to SundaySchool. 

Mona, having a shrewd suspicion that Patty could have told much more ifshe had chosen, was longing to ask questions, but Patty was notencouraging. 

"Did you think you were really going to die?" she asked. 

"Yes, " said Patty, simply. 

"What did it feel like? Were you----"

"I can't tell you. " Patty's voice was very grave. "Don't ask me, Mona. It's--it's too solemn to talk about. "

When they reached the school-yard gate, Millie Higgins came towards them. "Then you're able to come, Patty! I'm so glad. " There was real feelingin Millie's words. Her voice was full of an enormous relief. Mona wasastonished. She herself did not look at Millie or speak to her. She hadnot forgiven her for that afternoon's work, and she more than suspectedher of being the cause of Patty's accident. 

As Millie did not move away, Mona strolled across with Patty stillclinging to her arm, to where a group of girls stood talking together. Millie Higgins, with a rush of colour to her face, turned away and joinedanother group, but the group apparently did not see her, for none of themspoke to her, and Millie very soon moved away again to where two girlsstood together, but as she approached the two they hastily linked armsand, turning their back on her, walked into the schoolroom. Mona noticedboth incidents, and, beginning to suspect something, kept both eyes andears open. Her suspicions were soon confirmed. 

"I believe that all the girls are giving Millie the cold shoulder, "she whispered at last in Patty's ear. "They must have planned it allbefore. You just watch for a few minutes. She has been up to ever somany, and then, as soon as they notice her, they move away. I wonderwhat's the meaning of it? Millie notices it herself. You just look ather. She's as uncomfortable as she can be. "

Patty raised her head sharply, and followed the direction of Mona's eyes. Millie was just joining on to a group of four or five. Patty saw a glanceexchanged, and two girls turned on their heels at once; then another, andanother, until Millie, with scared face and eyes full of shame and pain, stood alone once more. She looked ready to cry with mortification. 

Patty, her face rosy with indignation, called across the yard to her; herclear voice raised so that all should hear. "Millie, will you come for awalk when we come out of school this afternoon?" Then going over andthrusting her arm through Millie's, she led her back to where Mona wasstill standing. 

"Mona is going, too, ain't you, Mona? I don't know, though, if we shallhave much time for a walk; we're going to the Library to choose a bookeach. Which do you think Mona would like?"

But Millie could not answer. The unkindness she had met with that morningand the kindness had stabbed deep; so deep that her eyes were full oftears, and her throat choked with sobs. Mona, looking up, saw it, and allher resentment against her faded. 

"I wish you'd come, too, Millie, and help us choose, " she said. "You readso much, you know which are the nicest. "

"All right, " said Millie, in a choked kind of voice. "I'd love to. "And then the doors opened, and they all trooped into their places. 

When they came out from the morning service each went home with her ownpeople. Patty, looking fragile and pale, was helped along by her father. Mona joined her father and grandmother. She was quiet, and had verylittle to say. 

"Did you like your class?" asked granny. She was a little puzzled byMona's manner. She had expected her to be full of excitement. 

"Yes, I liked it very much, " but she did not add anything more then. It was not until evening, when they were sitting together in thefirelight, that she opened her heart on the subject. "I wish I'd knownour teacher all my life, " she said, with a sigh. 

"Why, dearie?"

"Oh--I don't know--gran--but she makes you see things, and she makes youfeel so--so--well as if you do want to be good, and yet you feel you wantto cry. "

"Try and tell me what she said, " said granny. "Perhaps 'twould help anold body, too. "

But Mona could not do that, nor could she put her feelings into words verywell. "I'll read to you instead, if you'd like me to, granny. "

When Millie Higgins had come out of church she had walked rapidlyhomewards by herself. Patty and her father had gone on. Mona was withher father and grandmother, and Millie felt that she could not face Mrs. Barnes just then. She was fighting a big fight with herself, and she hadnot won yet. But in the afternoon, when they came out of the schoollibrary, the two walked together. They took Patty home, because she wastoo tired to do any more that day. Then Mona and Millie hesitated, looking at each other. "I must go home, too, " said Mona. "I thought I'dhave been able to go for a walk, but it's too late. Granny'll beexpecting me. "

Millie looked at her without speaking, half turned to leave her, hesitated, and finally walked on at Mona's side. She seemed nervous andembarrassed, but Mona did not notice it. She did not realize anything ofthe struggle going on in Millie's mind. She was too much occupied inglancing at the pictures in her book, and reading a sentence here andthere. 

"I'm longing to begin it. I think granny'll like it too. "

Millie did not answer, and they walked the rest of the way in silence. When they reached the house Mona stood for a moment without opening thedoor. She was somewhat troubled in her mind as to what to do. She didnot want to ask Millie in, yet she was afraid of hurting her feelings bynot doing so. Millie stood, and did not say good-bye. Her cheeks wereflushed, and she was evidently very nervous. 

"May I come in?" she asked at last. "Yes, do come inside. " Mona was alittle surprised at Millie's daring, and not too well pleased, but shetried to speak cordially. Opening the door, she went in first. "Granny, here's Millie Higgins come to see you. She's been to school withPatty and me, and we've walked back together!"

Mrs. Barnes was sitting in her chair by the fire. "Well, Millie, " shesaid kindly. "It's a long time since I've seen you. Sit down. "Whether she suspected the truth neither of the girls could make out. Millie grew even redder in the cheeks, and looked profoundlyuncomfortable. 

"I--I've come to say--" she burst out in a jerky, nervous fashion, "I--I came here on Wednesday--when you were out, and I--behaved badly--"She hesitated, broke down, looked at the door as though she would havedashed out through it, had it only been open, then in one rush poured outthe words that had been repeating and repeating themselves in her brainall that day. 

"I'm very sorry I broke your beautiful set, Mrs. Barnes. I'm--ever sosorry, I--don't know what to do about it----"

Mona, guided by some sense of how she would have felt under thecircumstances, had disappeared on the pretence of filling a kettle. She knew how much harder it is to make a confession if others are lookingon and listening. 

"Oh!" said Mrs. Barnes, gravely, "was it you that broke my china?I didn't know. "

Millie stared with astonishment. "Didn't--Mona tell you?" she gasped, quite taken aback. She could scarcely believe her own ears. Granny Barnes shook her head. "No, I didn't know but what she did itherself. I believe little Patty did say that she didn't, but I was tooupset to take in what was said. My precious tea-set was broken, and itdidn't seem to me to matter who did it. "

Millie was silent for a moment or so. "Well, I did it, " she said at last. "I threw a cushion at Mona, and it hit the china behind her! I've feltdreadful about it ever since, and I--I didn't dare to come near you. I don't know what to do about it, Mrs. Barnes. Can it be mended?" sheadded, colouring hotly again. "I--I mean I've got some money in the bank. I'll gladly pay for it to be mended, if it can be. "

"I don't know, Millie. Perhaps one or two bits can--but nothing can evermake the set perfect again. " Mrs. Barnes' voice quavered, and tears cameinto her eyes. "But I wouldn't let you pay for it. We won't talk anymore about it--I can't. P'raps I set too much store by the things. "She got up from her seat, and stood, leaning heavily on the table. "It's all right, Millie. I'm very glad you came and told me you did it. Yes, I'm very glad of that. Now we'll try and forget all about it. "

Millie burst into tears, and moved away towards the door. 

"Stay and have some tea with Mona and me, " Granny urged, hospitably. "Don't run away, Millie. "

But Millie felt that she must go. She wanted to be alone. "I--I thinkI'd rather not--not now, thank you. I'll come--another day, if you willask me. " Then she hurried out, and up the hill, thankful that it wastea-time, and that nearly everyone was indoors. She quickly turned offthe main road into a little frequented narrow lane, and by way of that tothe wide stretch of wild land which crowned the top of the hill. She wanted to be alone, and free, to fight out her battle alone. 

"If I'd known Mona hadn't told--" The mean thought would try to take rootin her mind, but she weeded it out and trampled on it. In her heart shewas profoundly impressed by Mona's conduct, and she was glad, devoutlyglad, that she had not been less honourable and courageous. She couldface people now, and not feel a sneak or a coward. 

In all her life after Millie never forgot her walk on that sunny summerevening. The charm and beauty, the singing of the birds, the scent of thefurze and the heather, the peace of it, after the storms she had livedthrough lately, sank deep into her soul. 

Her wickedness of the past week had frightened her. "I felt I didn't carewhat I did, I was so wild with Mona. I wonder I didn't do more harm thanI did. And then Patty, poor little Patty. I nearly drowned her!Oh-h-h!" She buried her face and shuddered at the remembrance. "I knew she'd fall into the water if I pushed her, so it was as bad asbeing a murderer. If she had died--and she nearly did--I should have beenone, and I should have been in jail now, and--oh, I _will_ try to be good, I _will_ try to be better!"

Long shadows were falling across the road as she went down the hill, on her homeward way. The flowers in Lucy Carne's garden were giving outtheir evening scent. Lucy, standing enjoying them, looked up as Milliecame along, and nodded. 

"Wouldn't you like a flower to wear?" she asked. 

Millie paused. "I'd love one, " she said, looking in over the low stonewall. "I never smell any so sweet as yours, Mrs. Carne. "

Lucy gathered her a spray of pink roses, and some white jessamine. "There, " she said, "fasten those in your blouse. Isn't the scentbeautiful? I don't think one could do anything bad, or think anythingbad, with flowers like those under one's eyes and nose, do you?"

"Don't you?" questioned Millie, doubtfully. "I don't believe anythingwould keep me good. "

Lucy looked at her in faint surprise. It was not like Millie to speakwith so much feeling. "You don't expect me to believe that, " she began, half laughing; then stopped, for there were still traces of tears aboutMillie's eyes, and a tremulousness about her lips, and Lucy knew that shewas really in need of help. 

"I know that you've got more courage than most of us, Millie, " she addedgently. "If you would only use it in the right way. Perhaps my littleflowers will remind you to. "

"I hope they will. I wish they would, " said Millie, fastening them in hercoat. "Goodbye. "

Before she reached her own home Millie saw her father out at the doorlooking for her. As a rule, it made her angry to be watched for in thisway, "Setting all the neighbours talking, " as she put it. But to-day herconscience really pricked her, and she was prepared to be amiable. Her father, though, was not prepared to be amiable. He had got aheadache, and he wanted his tea. He had been wanting it for an hour andmore. 

"Where have you been gallivanting all this time, I'd like to know. I'll be bound you've been a may-gaming somewhere as you didn't ought to ona Sunday, your dooty to me forgotten. "

To Millie this sounded unjust and cruel. She had let her duties slip fromher for a while, but she had been neither may-gaming nor wasting her time. Indeed, she had been in closer touch with better things and nobler aimsthan ever in her life before, and in her new mood her father's wordsjarred and hurt her. An angry retort rose to her lips. 

"I haven't been with anybody, " she replied sharply. "I've been for a walkby myself, that's all. It's hard if I can't have a few minutes for myselfsometimes. " But, in putting up her hand to remove her hat, she brushedher flowers roughly, and her angry words died away. In return for a blowthey gave out a breath of such sweetness that Millie could not but heedit. "I--I was thinking, and I forgot about tea-time, " she added in agentler voice. "But I won't be long getting it now, father. "

While the kettle was coming to the boil she laid the cloth and cut somebread and butter; then she went to the larder and brought out an applepie. With all her faults, Millie was a good cook, and looked after herfather well. 

He looked at her preparations approvingly, and his brow cleared. "You're a good maid, Millie, " he said, as he helped the pie, while Milliepoured out the tea. "I'm sorry I spoke a bit rough just now. I didn'treally mean anything. I was only a bit put out. "

Millie's heart glowed with pride and pleasure. "That's all right, father, " and then she added, almost shyly, "I--I'd no business to--toforget the time, and stay out so long. " It was the first time in her lifeshe had admitted she was wrong when her father had been vexed with her andgiven her a scolding. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Lucy Carne knocked at Granny Barnes' door, and waited. She had a littlenosegay of flowers in her hand and a plate of fresh fish. Almost every dayshe brought granny something, even if it was only a simple flower, andgranny loved her little 'surprises. '

Lucy waited a moment, hearing a voice inside, then she knocked again, andlouder. 

"I do believe Mona's reading to her again, and they've forgotten theirtea!"

Getting no answer even now, Lucy opened the door a little way and poppedher head in. "May I come in? I don't know what world you two are livingin to-day, but I knocked twice and I couldn't reach you. "

Mona carefully placed the marker in her book and closed it, butreluctantly. Miss Lester, her Sunday School teacher, had given her themarker. It was a strip of ribbon with fringed ends, and with her namepainted on it, and a spray of white jessamine. Every girl who had joinedthe library had had one. Some were blue, some red, some white, and therest orange colour. Mona's was red. She was glad, for she liked red, andthe delicate white flower looked lovely on it, she thought. Miss Lesterhad painted them herself, and the girls prized them beyond anything. 

Mona's eyes lingered on hers as she closed the book. It was rather hardto have to leave her heroine just at that point, and set about gettingtea. She did wish Lucy had not come for another ten minutes. 

Granny looked up with a little rueful smile. "I felt it was tea-time, "she said, "but I thought Mona would like to finish out the chapter, andthen before we knew what we were doing we had begun another. It's apretty tale. I wish you had been hearing it too, Lucy. It's called'Queechy. ' A funny sort of a name, to my mind. "

"'Queechy'!--why, I read that years ago, and I've read it again since I'vebeen married. I borrowed it from mother when I was so ill that time. Mother had it given to her as a prize by her Bible-class teacher. She thinks the world of it. So do I. I love it. "

"I'm longing to get to the end, " said Mona, turning over the pageslingeringly. "There's only three chapters more. "

"Oh, well, that's enough for another reading or two, " said Granny. "They are long chapters. It would be a pity to hurry over them just forthe sake of reaching the end. We'll have a nice time to-morrow, dearie. I shall be sorry when it's all done. "

But Mona was impatient. "To-morrow! Nobody knows what may happen beforeto-morrow. Something is sure to come along and prevent anybody's doingwhat they want to do, " she said crossly. 

Granny looked at her with grieved eyes. "I think you generally manage todo what you want to, Mona, " she said, gravely. "I don't think you canhave profited much by what you've read, " she added, and turned to Lucy. 

Mona laid down her book with a sigh. "It's much easier to read aboutbeing good than to be good oneself, " she thought. 

Lucy came in from the scullery with a vase full of water. "I'll have afew nice flowers for you to take to Miss Lester on Sunday, Mona, if you'llcome and fetch them. "

"Thank you, " said Mona, but she looked and spoke glumly. She was stillvexed with Lucy for coming in and interrupting them. She did not knowthat Lucy came in at meal-times just to make sure that granny had hermeals, for Mona thought nothing of being an hour late with them if she wasoccupied in some other way. 

"Don't trouble about it, if you don't care to have them, " Lucy addedquietly. And Mona felt reproved. 

"I'd like to, " she said, looking ashamed of herself. "Miss Lester loveshaving flowers. I'll run up on Saturday evening for them, mother. They'll be better for being in water all night. "

"That's right. Now, I'll cook the fish while you lay the cloth. Granny'llbe fainting if we don't give her something to eat and drink soon. Ishould have been down before, but I had to see father off. "

"Will he be out all night?" Granny asked, anxiously. She never got overher dread of the sea at night. 

"Yes. If they get much of a catch they'll take it in to Baymouth to land. The 'buyers' will be there to-morrow. I'm hoping Peter'll be back in theafternoon. These are fine whiting. You like whiting, don't you, mother?"

"Yes, very much. It's kind of you to bring them. I feel now how badly Iwas wanting my tea. You'll have some with us?"

"I think I will. I was so busy getting Peter off that I didn't haveanything myself. "

Mona laid the cloth with extra care. Lucy's vase of stocks stood at onecorner. Though it was August, the wind was cold, and the little bit offire in the grate made the kitchen very pleasant and cosy. 

"I've got a bit of news for you, Mona, " said Lucy, coming back fromputting away the frying-pan. "Mrs. Luxmore told me that Miss Lester isengaged. Had you heard it?"

"Oh, no! What, my Miss Lester? Miss Grace?" Mona was intenselyinterested. "Oh, I am so glad. Who is she engaged to, mother?"

"Why, Dr. Edwards! Isn't it nice! Doesn't it seem just right?" Lucy wasalmost as excited as Mona. "I am so glad she isn't going to marry astranger, and leave Seacombe. "

"Can it be true! really true?"

"It's true enough. Mrs. Luxmore told me. Her husband works two days aweek at Mrs. Lester's, and Mrs. Lester told him her very own self. So itmust be true, mustn't it?"

Mona's thoughts had already flown to the wedding. "We girls in MissGrace's class ought to give her a wedding present. What would be a nicething to give her? And, oh, mother!" Mona clapped her hands in a freshburst of excitement. "I wonder if she will let us all go to the weddingand strew roses in her path as she comes out of the church--"

"It'll depend a good deal on what time of the year the wedding is to be, "remarked granny, drily. But Mona's mind was already picturing the scene. 

"We ought all to be dressed in white, with white shoes and stockings, andgloves, and some should wear pink round their waists and in their hats, and the rest should have blue, and those that wear pink should throw whiteroses, and those that wear blue should throw pink roses. Wouldn't it looksweet? I'd rather wear blue, because I've got a blue sash. "

A door banged upstairs, and made them all jump. "Why, how the wind isrising!" said Lucy, in a frightened voice. She hurried to the window andlooked out anxiously. "Oh, dear! and I was hoping it was going to bepretty still to-night. "

"What I'd give if Peter was a ploughman, or a carpenter!" cried granny, almost irritably. "I don't know how you can bear it, Lucy, always to havethe fear of the sea dogging you day and night!" Her own face had grownquite white. 

"I couldn't bear it, " said Lucy quietly, "if I didn't feel that whereverhe is God's hand is over him just the same. " She came back and stood bythe fire, gazing with wistful eyes into its glowing heart. 

"But sailors and fishermen do get drowned, " urged Mona, putting her fearsinto words in the hope of getting comfort. 

"And ploughmen and carpenters meet with their deaths, too. We've got ourwork to do, and we can't all choose the safest jobs. Some must take therisks. And no matter what our work is, death'll come to us all one day. Some of us who sit at home, die a hundred deaths thinking of thosebelonging to us and the risks they are facing. "

Then, seeing that granny was really nervous, Lucy led the talk to otherthings, though, in that little place, with nothing to break the force ofthe wind, or deaden the noise of the waves, it was not easy to get one'smind away from either. "I don't suppose it is very bad, really, " saidLucy, comfortingly. "It always sounds a lot here, but the men laugh at mewhen I talk of 'the gale' blowing. 'You must wait till you hear the realthing, ' they say. But I tell them I have heard the real thing, and itbegan quietly enough. Now, Mona, you and I will put away the tea things, shall we?"

"You won't go home before you really need to, will you?" asked granny. "It'll be a long and wearying time you'll have alone there, waiting formorning. Oh, I wish it was morning now, " she added, almost passionately, "and the night over, and the storm. I do long for rest. "

Lucy looked at her anxiously, surprised by the feeling in her voice. "Why, mother! you mustn't worry yourself like that. It's nothing of a wind yet, and it may die down again quite soon. I think it was a mistake lettingyou come to live on this side of the road, where you feel the wind so muchmore. If I were you I'd move up nearer to us the first time there's aplace to let. You feel just as I do about the storms, and it's only thosethat do who understand how hard it is to bear. "

Granny nodded, but she did not answer. She turned to Mona. "Wouldn't youlike to go for a run before bedtime?" she asked. "The air'll do you good, and help you to sleep. "

"I didn't want her to get nervous just before bedtime, " she confided toLucy when Mona had gone. "I try not to let her see how nervous I get--butsometimes one can't help but show it. "

Mona did not need any urging. Her thoughts were full of Miss Lester'scoming marriage and her own plans for it, and ever since she had heard thenews she had been longing to go out and spread it and talk it over. 

"Patty ought to wear blue, to match her eyes; Millie will be sure tochoose pink, she has had such a fancy for pink ever since she had thatprint frock. "

But when she reached the Quay she met with disappointment. There washardly anyone there but some boys playing 'Prisoners. ' Certainly it wasnot very tempting there that evening, the wind was cold and blustery, andboth sea and sky were grey and depressing. Mona was glad to come awayinto the shelter of the street. 

She looked about her for someone to talk to, but, seeing no one, she madeher way home again. It was very aggravating having to keep her greatideas bottled up till morning, but it could not be helped. When shereached home again, Lucy was still there, but she had her hat on ready tostart. 

"I wish you hadn't to go, " said Granny Barnes, wistfully. "I wish youcould stay here the night. "

Lucy looked at her anxiously. "Are you feeling very nervous, mother?Would you rather I stayed? I will if you wish. "

"No, --oh, no, " granny protested, though she would have liked it above allthings. "I wasn't thinking about myself; I was thinking about you, upthere all alone. "

"Oh, I shall be all right. I am getting used to it. Now you go to bedearly, and try to go to sleep, then you won't notice the weather. You arelooking dreadfully tired. Good night--good night, Mona. "

"I think I'll do as Lucy said, " said granny a little while later. "I'mfeeling tireder than ever in my life before. If I was in bed now thisminute, I believe I could sleep. If I once got off I feel as if I couldsleep for ever. " And by half-past eight the house was shut up, and theyhad gone to bed. 

Granny, at least, had gone to bed, and had fallen almost at once into aheavy slumber. Mona was more wakeful. The news of her teacher'sengagement had excited her, and not having been able to talk it out, herbrain was seething with ideas. 

She put out her candle, drew back her curtains, and looked out into thegathering darkness. An air of gloom and loneliness reigned overeverything. Far out she could see white caps on the waves, but not aboat, or vessel of any kind. The sky looked full and lowering. 

With a little shiver Mona drew her curtains again and relighted hercandle. As it flickered and burnt up, her eyes fell on the book soreluctantly put aside until to-morrow. 

"Oh, I wish I could have just a little read, " she thought, longingly. "Just a look to see what happens next. "

She took up the book and opened it, glancing over the chapters she hadread--then she turned to the one she and granny were going to readto-morrow. Her eyes travelled greedily over a few paragraphs, then sheturned the page. Presently she grew tired of standing, and sat on theside of the bed, lost to everything but the pages she was devouringhungrily. The wind blew her curtains about, the rain drove against thepanes, but Mona did not heed either. She had drawn herself up on the bedby that time and, leaning up against her pillows, was reading comfortablyby the light of the candle close beside her. She was miles away from herreal surroundings, and driving with Fleda in England, and no other worldexisted for her. 

Her eyelids growing heavy, she closed them for a moment. She didn't knowthat she had closed them, and imagined she was still reading. She was verysurprised, though, presently, to find that what she thought she had beenreading was not on the open pages before her. She rubbed her tiresomelyheavy lids and looked again; then she raised herself on her elbow andbegan again at the top of the mysterious page, and all went well for aparagraph or two. Fleda was walking now alone, through a grassy glade. Oh, how lovely it was--but what a long walk to be taking in such a highwind. Mona forced open one eye, and let the other rest a moment. "Thetrees sometimes swept back, leaving an opening, and at other places, "stretched--stretched, yes it was, "stretched their branches over, "--over--but how the wind roared in the trees, and what a pity that someoneshould have had a bonfire just there, the smell was suffocating--and theheat! How could she bear it! And, oh, dear! How dazzling the sun was--or the bonfire; the whole wood would be on fire if they did not take care!Oh, the suffocating smoke!

Mona--or was she Fleda?--gasped and panted. If relief did--not--comesoon--she could not draw--another breath. She felt she was paralysed--helpless--dying--and the wind--so much--air--somewhere--she was tryingto say, when suddenly, from very, very far away she heard her own namebeing called. It sounded like 'Mona'--not Fleda--and--yet, somehow sheknew that it was she who was meant. 

"Oh--what--do they--want!" she thought wearily. "I can't go. I'm----"

"Mona! Mona!" She heard it again; her own name, and called frantically, and someone was shaking her, and saying something about a fire, and thenshe seemed to be dragged up bodily and carried away. "Oh, what rest! andhow nice to be out of that awful heat--she would have--died--if--if--"Then she felt the cold air blowing on her face, the dreadful dragging painin her chest was gone, she could breathe! She opened her eyes and lookedabout her--and for the first time was sure that she was dreaming. 

The other was real enough, but this could only be a dream, for she waslying on the pavement in the street, in the middle of the night, withpeople standing all about staring down at her. They were people she knew, she thought, yet they all looked so funny. Someone was kneeling besideher, but in a strange red glow which seemed to light up the darkness, shecould not recognise the face. Her eyelids fell, in spite of herself, butshe managed to open them again very soon, and this time she saw the blacksky high above her; rain fell on her face. The red glow went up and down;sometimes it was brilliant, sometimes it almost disappeared, and all thetime there was a strange crackling, hissing noise going on, and a horriblesmell. 

By degrees she felt a little less dazed and helpless. She tried to putout her hands to raise herself, but she could not move them. They werefastened to her sides. She saw then that she was wrapped in a blanket. 

"What--ever--has happened!" she asked sharply. 

"There has been an accident--a fire. Your house is on fire--didn't youknow?"

"Fire!--our house--on fire!" Mona sat upright, and looked about her in abewildered way. Could it be that she was having those dreadful thingssaid to her. She had often wondered how people felt, what they thought--what they did, when they had suddenly to face so dreadful a thing. 

"Where's granny?" she asked abruptly--almost violently. 

There was a moment's silence. Then Patty Row's mother said in abreathless, hesitating way, "Nobody--no one knows yet, Mona. Nor how thehouse was set on fire, " she added, hastily, as though anxious to give Monasomething else to think of. "Some say the wind must have blown down thekitchen chimney and scattered some red-hot coals about the floor. "

"But 'twas the top part of the house that was burning first along, " brokein old Tom Harris. "Mrs. Carne saw smoke and fire coming through thebedroom windows and the roof. "

"The top part!--where granny was sleeping!" Mona threw open the blanketand struggled to her feet. "Oh, do stop talking, and tell me--hasn'tanyone found granny?" Her question ended almost in a scream. 

"They--they're getting her----" said somebody. The rest preserved anominous silence. 

"There's a chain of men handing up buckets of water through the backgarden, " said someone else, as though trying to distract her thoughts. "They'll soon get the fiercest of the fire down. "

"But--but think of granny. We can't wait for that. She's in the fire allthis time. She was in bed. Hasn't anyone been to her? Oh, they musthave. They can't have left her--an old woman--to save herself!"

Mona was beside herself with the horror of the thing. 

"They tried, " said Mrs. Row, gently, "but they were beaten back. Mrs. Carne tried until she was--There! She's gone--Mona's gone!"Her explanation ended in a scream. "Oh, stop her--somebody, do, she'll bekilled. "

"It'd have been sensibler to have told her the truth at once, " said TomHarris, impatiently. "She's got to know, poor maid. Now we shall haveanother life thrown away, more than likely, and Mrs. Carne with a brokenleg, and nobody knows what other damage. "

Slipping through the crowd in the darkness, Mona, in a perfect frenzy offear, dashed into the house. All she was conscious of was hot angeragainst all those who stood about talking and looking on and doingnothing, while granny lay helpless in her bed suffocating, perhapsburning; were they mad!--did they want granny to die?--didn't they care, that no one made any attempt to save her. Through the semi-darkness, thehaze of smoke and steam, she heard people, and voices, but she could notsee anyone. The heat was fearful, and the smell of burning made her feelsick. 

She groped her way stumblingly through the kitchen. The furniture seemedto her to be scattered about as though on purpose to hinder her, but shekept along by the dressers as well as she could. They would be a guide, she thought. "Poor tea-set! There will be little of it left now. "Her fingers touched something soft. Lucy's stocks, still in the vase. At last she found herself at the foot of the staircase. The door wasclosed. Someone had wisely shut it to check the rush of air up it. After a struggle, Mona managed to open it again, and fell back before theoverpowering heat and the smoke which choked and blinded her. She clappedher hand over her nose and mouth, and crouching down, dragged herself alittle way up, lying almost flat on her face, she was so desperate nowwith the horror of it all, beside herself. Ahead of her was what lookedlike a blazing furnace. All around her was an awful roaring, the noise ofburning, broken into every now and again by a crash, after which the redlight blazed out brighter, and the roaring redoubled. 

How could anyone live in such a furnace. An awful cry of despair brokefrom her parched throat. "Granny!" she screamed. "Oh, granny! Where areyou? I can't reach--" Another crash, and a blazing beam fell across thehead of the burning staircase. 

"Granny! Oh, God save my----" But before she could finish she was seizedby strong arms and lifted up, and then darkness fell on her brain, and sheknew no more. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

When poor Lucy Carne next opened her eyes and came back with a sigh to thehorrors and suffering of which she had for a time been mercifullyunconscious, her first thought was for her husband. 

"Has the boat come in? Did the storm die down?--or did it get worse?Has anyone heard or seen anything of my husband?" She panted feebly. But before they could answer her, she had floated off again into atroubled delirium. 

"Oh, the wind! Oh, the awful wind!" she kept on repeating. "Oh, can'tanything stop it! It's fanning the flames to fury; it's blowing themtowards granny's room. Oh, the noise--I must find her--I must save her--she's so feeble. Oh, granny! Granny!" Her voice would end in a scream, followed by a burst of tears; then she would begin again. 

Once or twice she had recovered consciousness, and then had asked for herhusband or Mona. "Is she badly hurt?--will she get over it?"

The nurse soothed and comforted her, and did all she could. "She isn'tconscious yet, but they think she will be soon. She's got slightconcussion, and she has cut herself a bit--but she will do all right ifshe gets over the shock. They are keeping her very quiet; it is the onlyway. You must try not to scream and call out, dear. For if she began tocome round and heard you, it might be very, very serious for her. "

After that Lucy lay trying hard to keep fast hold of her senses. "Don't let me scream!" she pleaded. "Put something over my head if Ibegin. I can keep myself quiet as long as I have my senses--but when theydrift away--I--don't know what I do. I didn't know I made a noise. Oh--h--h!" as some slight movement racked her with pain. 

"Poor dear, " said Nurse. "I expect you're feeling your bruises now, andyour leg. "

"I seem to be one big lump of pain, " sighed poor Lucy. "But I don't mindif only Mona pulls through, and Peter is safe. Oh, my poor husband--whata home-coming!"

"Now try not to dwell on it. You'll only get yourself worse, and for hissake, poor man, you ought to try and get well as fast as you can. There, look at those flowers Patty Row has brought you. Aren't theysweet!"

"Oh, my!" Lucy drew in deep breaths of their fragrance. "Stocks, andsweet-brier--oh, how lovely! They'll help to take away the--smell of theburning. " Then her mind seemed to float away again, but not this timethrough a raging furnace, but through sweet-scented gardens, and sunlight, and soft pure air. 

When she came back to the hospital ward again, Nurse smiled at her witheyes full of pleasure. "I've good news for you, " she said, bending low, so that her words might quite reach the poor dazed brain. "Your husbandis safe!"

"Oh, thank God! Thank God!" Her eyes swam in tears of joy. "Does--heknow?" she asked a moment later, her face full of anxiety. The thought ofhis sad home-coming was anguish to her. 

Nurse nodded. "Yes, dear, he knows. The Vicar went to Baymouth by thefirst train and brought him back. He did not want him to have the newsblurted out to him without any preparation. "

"How very kind! How is he? Peter, I mean. Is he feeling it very badly?Oh, I wish I could be there to help him, to comfort him. He'll be solonely--and there will be so much to do. "

"My dear, he won't want for help. Everyone is ready and anxious to dowhat they can. Of course, he is upset. He wouldn't be the man he is ifhe wasn't. It is all a terrible shock to him! But it might have been somuch worse. He is so thankful that you and Mona are safe. He doesn'tgive a single thought to himself. "

"He never does, " said Lucy, half-smiling, half-weeping. "That's why heneeds me to take thought of him. When may I see him, Nurse?"

"That's what he is asking. If you keep very quiet now, and have a nicesleep, perhaps you'll be strong enough for just a peep at him when youwake up. "

"I'll lie still, and be very quiet, but I can't promise to sleep. "She did sleep, though, in spite of herself, for when next she turned herhead to see if the hands of the clock had moved at all, she found herhusband sitting beside her, smiling at her. 

"Why, however did you get here, dear? I never saw you come--nor heard asound. "

"I reckon I must have growed up out of the floor, " said Peter, bending tokiss her. "Well, my girl, this isn't where I expected to see 'ee when Icame back--but I'm so thankful to find you at all, I can't think ofanything else. "

"Oh, my dear, I'm so glad you've come, " she cried, clinging to himpassionately. "I never thought we should meet again in this world. Oh! Peter--what we've been through! Oh! That night! That awful night!"

He patted her soothingly, holding her hand in his. "I know, I know--butyou must try not to dwell on it. If you throw yourself back, I shan't beallowed to come again. "

Lucy put a great restraint upon herself. "They've told you:--poor grannyis dead?" she whispered, but more calmly. 

"Yes--they've told me. I believe I know the worst now. I've one bit ofcomfort, though, for all of us. I've just seen the doctor, and he saysshe was dead before the fire reached her. She must have died almost assoon as she lay down. "

Then Lucy broke down and wept from sheer relief. "Oh, thank God, " shesaid, fervently, "for taking her to Himself, and sparing her the horrorsof that awful night. Thank Him, too, for Mona's sake. The thought thatgranny perished in the fire because no one reached her in time would havebeen the worst of all the thoughts weighing on her mind. She will bespared that now. "

At that moment, though, Mona was troubled by no thoughts at all. She layin her bed in the ward just as they had placed her there hours before, absolutely unconscious. If it had not been for the faint beating of herheart she might have been taken for dead. Doctors came and looked at herand went away again, the day nurses went off duty, and the night nursescame on and went off again, but still she showed no sign of life. With her head and her arms swathed in bandages, she lay with her eyesclosed, her lips slightly parted. It was not until the following day, theday Granny Barnes was laid to rest in the little churchyard on the hill, that she opened her eyes on this world once more, and glanced about her, dazed and bewildered. 

"Where?" she began. But before she had finished her sentence, her eyesclosed. 

This time, though, it was not unconsciousness, but sleep that she driftedoff into, and it was not until afternoon that she opened her eyes oncemore. 

"Where am I?" She completed her question this time. Then, at the sightof a nurse in uniform, a look of alarm crept into her eyes. 

"Where are you, dear? Why, here in hospital, being taken care of, andyour mother is here, too. "

"Mother. "

"Yes, and we are looking after you so well! You are both better already. "

The cheerful voice and smile, the kindly face, drove all Mona's fears awayat once, and for ever. But, as memory returned, other fears took theirplace. 

"Is--mother--hurt?"

"Yes--but, oh, not nearly as badly as she might have been. She will bewell again soon. You shall go into the ward with her when you are alittle better. You must keep very quiet now, and not talk. "

"But--granny--and father?" faltered Mona. "I _must_ know--I can't rest--till--I do. "

For a moment the Nurse hesitated. It was very difficult to know what todo for the best. "She will only fret and worry if I don't tell her, and imagine things worse than they are, " she thought to herself. 

"Your father is home, and safe and well. You shall see him soon. Your poor granny is safe, too, dear, and well. So well, she will neversuffer any more. "

"They--let her--die----"

"No one let her die, dear. She had died in her sleep before the firebroke out. She was mercifully spared that--and isn't that something to bethankful for, Mona? There, there, don't cry, dear. You mustn't cry, oryou will be ill again, and, for your father's and mother's sake, you musttry and get well. Your father wants you home to take care of him untilyour mother can come. Think of him, dear, and how badly he needs you, andtry your best to get better. He is longing to come to see you. "

Mercifully for Mona, she was too weak to weep much, or even to think, and before very long she had sunk into an exhausted sleep. Mercifully, too, perhaps, in the horror of her awakening, that terriblenight, and the distracting hours that followed, it never entered her headthat it was she who had brought about the disaster. It was not till laterthat that dreadful truth came home to her, to be repented of through yearsof bitter regret. 

The next day her father came to see her, and a few days after that she wascarried into the adjoining ward and put into the bed next to her mother. 

That was a great step forward. For the first time a ray of sunshinepenetrated the heavy cloud of sorrow which had overshadowed them all. 

"Keep them both as cheerful as possible, " the doctor had said, "and don'tlet them dwell on the tragedy if you can help it. " So every day a visitorcame to see them--Miss Grace Lester, Mrs. Row, and Patty, Millie Higgins, and Philippa--and as they all brought flowers and fruit, the little wardbecame a perfect garden, gay with bright colours and sweet scents. 

Miss Grace brought a book for Mona, and a soft, warm shawl for Lucy. They were delighted. "And please, Miss, " said Lucy, "may I give you mybest wishes for your happiness? We heard you were going to be marriedbefore so very long. "

Grace Lester blushed prettily. "Yes, but not till next spring, " she said. "Thank you for your good wishes, Mrs. Carne. It was very sweet of you toremember me through all the troubles you have been through lately. I am so glad my new home will be in Seacombe, where I know and loveeveryone. I should have been very grieved if I had had to leave it. Mona, what are you thinking about, to make you look so excited? You knowthe doctor ordered you to keep calm! I don't know what he would say if hesaw you now. He would blame me for exciting you, and I should never beallowed to come again. "

"Oh, Miss Grace, I am calm--I really am. I won't be excited, I won't beill, but, oh, I must tell you--I thought of something as soon as ever Iheard there was to be a wedding--and oh, I wish you would--I am sure itwould be lovely. We want--all your Sunday School girls, I mean, MissGrace--to be allowed to come and strew flowers in your path as you comeout of church, and we'd all be dressed in white, and--and some would havepink, and some blue in their hats, and--Oh, Miss Grace, do please thinkabout it and try and say 'Yes!'"

Grace Lester's eyes were misty with happy tears by the time Mona had done. "Why, you nice, kind children, " she cried, "to have such plans for makingmy wedding day beautiful and happy! I had not thought of anything socharming. "

For a few moments she sat silent, thinking deeply, and Mona lay back onher pillow watching her face. "Would she consent--Oh, would she?It would almost be too lovely, though, " she concluded. "It could notreally come true. "

"Mona, " said Miss Grace at last. "Do you know what I thought you might begoing to ask?"

Mona shook her head, her eyes were full of questioning. 

"I thought, perhaps, you were going to ask if you might come and be mylittle housemaid in my new home!"

"Oh--h--h!" Mona and her mother both exclaimed aloud and in the same toneof delight. "Oh, Miss Grace!" Mona sprang up in her bed and clapped herhands, bandages and all. "Oh, Miss Grace! do you really mean it?That would be better than anything, because that would be for always. Oh, mother, " turning to Lucy, her face radiant, "wouldn't that be lovely!"

"Lovely, " said Lucy, her eyes full of deep pleasure. "I wouldn't ask foranything better for you, Mona. I think--I know, it'll be the best thatcan possibly happen. "

"How very nice of you, Mrs. Carne. " Grace Lester pressed Lucy's hand. "You make me feel--very, very proud--but--well, I will try to do my bestfor her. Good-bye. I must not stay any longer now, or Nurse will becoming to scold me, but, " with a smile, "I must just stay long enough tosay I engage Mona now to come to me in April. We will talk about wagesand uniform, and all those things later on, when you are both stronger, and I have had time to think. Now, good-bye--and Mona, don't keep yourmother awake, or I shall be in everyone's bad books. "

"Oh, I'm as excited as she is, I think, " said Lucy, smiling up at Mona'sfuture mistress, "and it will be a real pleasure to me to teach her andget her as ready as I can--and I can't tell you, Miss, how pleased herfather'll be that she is going where she will be so happy and well lookedafter. "

Grace Lester clasped Lucy's hand again. "It will be a great pleasure tome to have her, " she said warmly, "and, trained by you, I know she will bea comfort to any mistress. "

With this new interest to lift her thoughts from her troubles, Monaregained health so rapidly that she was able to leave the hospital soonerthan anyone had dared to hope. Poor Lucy, who had to stay there someweeks longer, watched her departure with tearful eyes. "I shall feellonely without you, dear, " she said, "but for your own sake, and father's, I am glad you are going home. You will look after him, won't you, and seeto his comforts--and I'll be back in about three weeks, they say, thoughI'll have to go about on crutches for a bit. "

"Oh, yes, I'll look after father. Don't you worry, mother, I'll see tothings, " Mona reassured her. 

"I expect you will find the house in a pretty mess, and the garden too. When I ran out that night, I little thought I wouldn't be back for nigh ontwo months. It's a lesson to one to be always prepared. "

"Don't you worry, mother, we'll soon get it all straight again. I am sureyour place was tidier than any other in Seacombe would be, left in a hurrylike that, and in the middle of the night. "

"But, Mona, you mustn't do too much. " Lucy's anxieties took a newdirection. She knew how Mona could, and would work, when she was in themood to. "Don't be doing too much and making yourself ill. That wouldtrouble me ever so much more than having the house untidy. You leave itall till I come home. When I am able to move about again I'll soon getthings nice. "

Mona nodded, with a laugh in her eyes. "Why, of course, everything willbe scrubbed inside and out, top and bottom, when you get home to do it, mother. " But in her mind she added, "if you can find anything needingit. "

Then she kissed her 'good-bye, ' promising to come again soon. "And I'lltake her a few flowers out of her own garden, " she thought. "She willlove that better than anything. But I expect the garden has run wild bythis time. "

She did not say as much to her mother, for she had learnt how much suchthoughts worried her; but she did to her father when he came to fetch her. He only smiled though. "You wait till you see it, my girl, " he saidmysteriously, "then you'll know how things have gone since you have beenaway. "

"There!" triumphantly, when they presently drew up at the gate. "Do you say now that a poor lone man can't keep his place tidy while hiswomen-folk are away!" and Mona stared, wide-eyed with surprise, for, instead of bushes all beaten down and tangled, weedy paths, and strippedflower beds, as she had pictured, the whole garden seemed full. Geraniums, phlox, mignonette, roses, snapdragons, and pansies made thebeds gay, while at the back of them great bushes of Michaelmas daisies andchrysanthemums stood erect, neatly tied up to stakes. 

"But how?--who--whenever did you find time, father?"

"I've never put a hand to it. "

"Then it must have been the fairies, " she laughed. "Flowers may grow bythemselves, but paths can't pull up their own weeds--I wish they could--nor bushes tie themselves up to stakes. "

Her father laughed too. "Well, never having seen a fairy, I can'tcontradict. But I'm bound to say that Matthew Luxmore was never my ideaof one. "

"Mr. Luxmore?"

"Yes, he's come two and three times a week, all the time your mother'sbeen in hospital, and tended the garden the same as if it had been hisown. Don't you call that acting the real Christian?"

"I do. Oh, father, I wish mother could see it. Wouldn't it make herhappy. " Mona was touched almost to tears. "And doesn't it make you wantto do something nice for people in return! But everybody has been so kindI don't know where to begin. "

"The only way to begin, " said Peter Carne, as he led Mona slowly up thepath, "is to take the first oppertoonity that comes along of doing akindness to one of them, and to keep on taking all the oppertoonities youcan. I know that the folks that have been good to us would be cut to theheart if we were to talk about returns. You can't return such things asthey've done for us. You can only let them know how grateful you are. And if a chance comes of doing anything for them--why, do it. Now, youcome along in, my girl, and sit down. You've done enough for one while. You've got to sit there and rest while I make you a cup of tea. That's right, the fire's just proper for making a nice bit of toast. "

Mona sank down in the arm-chair, and stared about her in speechlesssurprise. "Why, it's like a palace! I came home meaning to clean it fromtop to bottom, and there's nothing for me to do. Has Mr. Luxmore beenacting the fairy here too, father!"

"No, the fairies in this department were a smaller sort, and more like myidea of fairies. It's Millie Higgins and Patty that have set this all torights for you. They came and begged of me to let them, till I couldn'trefuse any longer. Patty's mother has cooked for me and looked after meall the time. There never was such folk as Seacombe folk I'm certainsure. There, there's a nice bit of toast for you, child, and the kettlejust going to boil right out over our shining fender. We'll have a cup oftea in a brace of shakes now. Then you will feel like a new woman. "

"I do that already, " said Mona. "I mean, " she added softly, "I am going totry to be, father. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

More than six months have passed away, and spring has come. Lucy Carne, strong and well again, is able to walk without even a trace ofa limp. Mona has grown an inch or two, has put up her hair, andlengthened her skirts. 

"You see I must learn to do it nicely by the time Miss Grace wants me, "she explained, when, on Christmas day, she appeared for the first timewith it coiled about her head. And, for a few weeks after, knew no peaceof mind. "I shall never keep it up, " she sighed, "unless I take a hammerand nails and fix it to my head that way. "

Lucy complained that she spent a fortune in hairpins, and her father saidhe could always trace where Mona had been by the hairpins strewing theplace. 

Lucy and she had been busy since the New Year came in making her uniform, blue print frocks, and large white linen aprons for the mornings, and abrown cloth dress and muslin aprons for the afternoons. She was to havemuslin caps too, and white collars and cuffs. 

"I don't think black is really more serviceable than any other colour, "Miss Lester had said when she came to talk to Lucy about Mona, "and Ithink I would like to have something new. So I want my servants to weara pretty warm brown. "

Mona was enraptured. The idea of wearing a uniform was delightful enough, but to have one unlike what other servants wore was doubly attractive. And when, on top of that, Miss Grace had said she had been thinking agreat deal about Mona's pretty suggestion for her wedding day, and wouldbe very happy indeed if her Bible-class girls would carry it out, Monathought that life was almost too full of happiness. "I'm afraid I shallwake up and find it's all a dream, " she said pathetically. "Mother, I'mnot dreaming, am I?"

"And I would like to give you all the muslin to make your dresses of, "added Miss Grace. 

Lucy looked at her gratefully. "It's too good of you, Miss, and you withso much else to think about, and such a lot to get. I don't know how tothank you. "

"Then don't try, " said Miss Grace. "I understand. I shall leave it toyou, " turning smilingly to Mona, "to provide the flowers you are going tothrow. "

"Oh, we are all doing our best to get plenty of those, " said Lucy. "There's a proper rivalry all through Seacombe, trying which of us can getthe best. There won't be any out-door roses, but we've all got bushes inour windows. "

Seacombe folk that spring tried to outdo each other in their cleaning, too. As soon as the March winds died down, and the days grew light andfine such a fury of whitewashing and painting, scrubbing and polishing setin, as had never been known in Seacombe before. By the middle of Aprilthere was not a whitewashing brush left, nor a yard of net for curtains. 

"It dazzles one to walk up the street when the sun shines, " Dr. Edwardscomplained. "What's the meaning of it all. Is it any special year----"

"It's your year, sir, " laughed Lucy. "That's the meaning of it! It's allfor your wedding day. You see, sir, you have been so good to us all, wewant to do what we can to show you and Miss Grace what we feel towards youboth. "

Dr. Edwards was touched. Seacombe folk did not talk much of theirfeelings, and he had never dreamed how much they felt. "It is very, verykind of you all, " he said, "and the knowledge will make us more happy thanall our wedding presents put together. "

"And we are all praying, sir, that the day may be as perfect a one as everanybody knew, " chimed in Mrs. Row, who was standing close by. 

And surely no people ever had their prayers more graciously granted. The sun shone in a cloudless sky from morning till night. A soft littlebreeze from the sea tempered the warmth, and set all the flags andstreamers waving. And as the bride walked down the churchyard path on herhusband's arm, it blew the rose petals over her, pink, and crimson, andwhite. 

Mona, her wishes realised, wore a blue sash and forget-me-nots in her hat;Millie stood next her with pink roses in hers, and a pink sash. Patty wasa blue girl, and Philippa a pink one. And though the baskets they carriedheld not so very many roses, they were flowing over with other flowers, for the girls had walked miles to gather bluebells and primroses, violetsand delicate anemones, the air smelt sweetly of spring, and the joy ofspring was in their faces, and in their hearts as well. 

And as the bride walked away down the path, Mona looked after her withtender, wistful eyes, and an unspoken prayer in her heart, that she mightbe given the grace, and the power to serve her new mistress well andloyally, and to do her share towards making her new life in her new homeas happy as life could be. 

THE END.