“Honor, it is absurd!” continued Mrs. Wentworth Ward. “What do you mean by allowing Katherine to spend money in this way? You are simply a parcel of children, and it is more than time that there was some one to keep you in order.” “Katherine has a perfect right to spend her money as she pleases, Aunt Sophia,” said Honor. She had been remonstrating sharply with her sister upon this very subject before the arrival of their aunt, but now she warmly espoused her cause in the presence of their common enemy. “It is her money. I have nothing to say about it.” And she again removed the stopper of the camphor bottle. “Nonsense! you are the eldest of the family, and the responsibility lies with you. That eternal application of camphor is bad for you, Honor. It does not really cure you, either. The relief is only temporary.” “It may be temporary, but is very pleasant,” said Honor; “as pleasant as anything can be when one has a bad cold.” “You will come to me the first of December,” continued Mrs. Ward, paying no further attention to these matters of minor importance, but reverting to her chief topic. “Peter and the younger girls will go next week to school, as the term has begun, and no time should be lost. It will be just as well to have them out of the way when you are closing up here.” “But, Aunt Sophia,” cried Honor, “you can’t really mean all this! Why should we do it? Why should we leave our home? Why can’t we stay on here as our dear father intended we should? I am twenty-one, and quite capable of looking after the others, and the children are well placed at school. You are very kind to make all these arrangements for us, but though we thank you very much, we don’t want to accept them. We prefer to stay as we are.” “Victoria, kindly see if the carriage has come back for me. I told the man to be here without fail,” said Mrs. Wentworth Ward, snapping the lid of her watch as she spoke. “Katherine, help me with my cloak, if you please. Is it dry? Ah, yes, Honor, when you see Dickinson Abbott, you will be made to understand why these arrangements have become necessary. It is easy to talk of living on here, but it requires money to do that—money, and you have scarcely a cent. The carriage has come, Victoria? Very well, then, good-bye! Tell Peter he should have come in to see me. You will hear from me again next week. In the meantime you had better begin your packing. I will come out and help you to put the house in order to let. I am sorry I have not time to stay longer, but after all, further discussion is unnecessary.” And again the front door was opened, again the northeast wind blew in, and Mrs. Wentworth Ward of Boston went out. The door had scarcely closed behind her when that leading from the back of the house to the hall was carefully opened, and a boy’s face appeared at the crack. “Has she gone?” inquired the owner of the face in a loud whisper. “I say, Vic, has she gone?”