I have not another minute to spare, so goodbye, dearie. I shall think of you every hour of the day. Help me by being brave! Mother. Mildred read the letter through, folded it away, and looked up at Miss Margaret with bright, dry eyes. "Can I go to my own room, Miss Margaret, please?" "You can if you like, Mildred, but the other girls will be there in a moment, getting ready for tea. Wouldn't you prefer to stay here? I will give you my writing-case, and you can write to your mother; she will be longing to hear. You shall have tea up here, a nice little tray, and Bertha shall have it with you, unless you prefer to be alone." "I don't want to see anyone. They are all going home. It would make me feel worse than ever. They are all happy but me--" "They will feel your disappointment almost as much as you do yourself. We are all so grieved; but I will do my best to make the holidays pleasant for you, dear." "Don't be kind to me, Mardie, please. I can't bear it--I feel as if I hated everyone! Why need Robbie take ill just now of all times in the year? He is a tiresome little thing. It is always the same way,--there is more trouble with him than with all the five girls. Why can't Mother stay with us and send him away to be nursed? There are five of us, and only one of him. I wasn't home at Easter, though almost all the girls went. I can't live six whole months longer without seeing Mother. It makes me wild even to think of it!" "Don't think of it, Mildred. Six months is a long way ahead; a hundred things may happen before then. Don't worry yourself about months, think only of to-day, and try to be bright, and brave, and patient." "It would be horrid of me to be bright when Mother is in trouble. I can't be brave when everything goes wrong; I can't be patient when my heart is breaking." "It is hard, dear, but there are harder trials than this, which we have to bear as we go through life, and you know--" "Mardie, don't preach! Don't! I can't bear it. How can it make it easier to know that other people have worse troubles? It makes it harder, for I have to be sorry for them as well as myself. It's no use trying to reason; you had better leave me alone. If you say another word I--I--I shall--" Mildred's voice broke, she struggled in vain against the rising sobs, and burying her face in her hands, burst into a storm of bitter weeping. Miss Margaret did not try to check her, for she knew that tears would be a relief, and that after this outburst Mildred would be calmer and more reasonable. She patted her heaving shoulders and murmured caressing words from time to time. "Dear Mildred! poor girl! I am so sorry,--we are all so sorry for you, dear. You know that--don't you?" Mildred cried on unrestrainedly, but by and by she nestled nearer to Mardie's side, and a few broken phrases began to mingle with her sobs.