"Yes'm, I will! I'll borry an egg or something; thank _you_, Madam Flynt! Good-night!" Kitty, dancing into the kitchen half an hour later, found a grim figure sitting bolt upright, reading a religious paper of austere appearance. Her gay "Supper, please, Sarepta!" was rewarded with the information that there was no supper that Sarepta knew of. Supper was at six o'clock; if folks were here, they'd get it; if they preferred to get their victuals elsewhere, it was no concern of hers that she knew of. Kitty opened wide eyes. "Oh! Excuse me for living!" she said. "Am I so _very_ late? The moonlight is so heavenly, Sarepta, I think I was very good to come in at all; and of course I had to see to those Lambs before I had my own supper. John Tucker wanted to send Timmy over, but I wouldn't let him; I love to put them to bed once in a while. But no matter, Sarepta. I'll find a doughnut and some milk; don't bother. I'm not really hungry!" Kitty's hand was on the buttery door when Sarepta intervened with a truly awful aspect. "When you wish me to go, Kitty Ross, you can say so and I will. While I stay, I calc'late to attend to things in this kitchen. You go into the sittin'-room and I'll bring you a tray." The tray, when brought, displayed a most tempting little meal: creamed chicken, buttered scones, cocoa and strawberry jam; but for once Kitty seemed hardly conscious of the good things. She looked up as if in a dream, her eyes soft and dewy. "Are you very cross, Sarepta?" she asked. "I'm sorry I was late." "Humph!" Sarepta apparently extremely cross, and busy setting down the tray. "Don't you love me?" asked the girl, as she had been used to ask when she was six and wanted an extra cooky. No answer being returned, Kitty came out of her dream, her own alert, thoughtful self; looked and saw the grim lips quivering, the workworn hands trembling as they hovered about the tray. "Sarepta!" Kitty sprang up, threw her arms round the neck of her faithful friend, and whispered three words in her ear. "So you see!" she said. Sarepta Darwin threw her apron over her head and departed, to hurry up to her room and lock her door. For this time, Sarepta _was_ crying, and no one must ever know it. The idea! CHAPTER XXI THE TRIBULATIONS OF CYRUS The matter came up at Bygoods', next morning, and was discussed with due gravity and decorum: present, Miss Almeria behind the counter, Messrs. Mallow and Jordano in front of it; Mr. Bygood in his wheel-chair, enjoying a little Society in the front shop, before retiring to the slumbrous calm of the back. To these were soon added the Messrs. Jebus, who had been alarmed by a sudden incursion of Sharpes the night before, heralding the proximate over-running of Cyrus by dissolute nobles "cracking their whips round our ears and driving their wheels _over our bodies_ if something isn't done about it!"