Alack, and alas! Aunt Marjorie felt like a shipwrecked mariner, as she sat now in the lovely drawing room and looked out over the summer scene. With her mind's eye she was gazing at something totally different--she was seeing the beautiful place as it would look in six months' time; she saw with disgust the rank and obnoxious weeds, the empty grate, the dust-covered ornaments. "It is worse for us than it would be for ordinary people," she said half aloud. "If we were just ordinary people, we could leave here and go into a tiny cottage where our surroundings would be in keeping with our means; but of course the Rector must live in the Rectory--at least I suppose so. Dear, dear! how sudden this visitation has been--truly may it be said that 'all flesh is grass.'" Aunt Marjorie had a way of quoting sentences which did not at all apply to the occasion; these quotations always pleased her, however, and a slow smile now played round her lips. The drawing-room door was opened noisily, and a fat little figure rushed across the room and sprang into her arms. "Is that you, Babs?" she said. She cuddled the child in a close embrace, and kissed her smooth, cool cheek many times. "Yes, of course it's me," said Babs, in her matter-of-fact voice. "Your eyes are quite red, Auntie. Have you been crying?" "We have had dreadful trouble, my darling--poor Auntie feels very miserable--it is about father. Your dear father has lost all his money, my child." "Miss Mills told me that half an hour ago," said Babs; "that's why I wanted to see you, Auntie. I has got half a sovereign in the Savings Bank. I'll give it to father if he wants it." "You're a little darling," said Aunt Marjorie, kissing her again. "There's Judy going across the garden," said Babs. "Look at her, she has her shoulders hunched up to her ears. She's not a bit of good; she won't play with me nor nothing." "That child doesn't look at all well," said Aunt Marjorie. She started to her feet, putting Babs on the floor. A new anxiety and a new interest absorbed her mind. "Judy, Judy," she called; "come here, child. I have noticed for the last week," she said, speaking her thoughts aloud, "that Judy has black lines under her eyes, and a dragged sort of look about her. What can it mean?" "She cries such a lot," said Babs in her untroubled voice. "I hear her when she's in bed at night. I thought she had she-cups, but it wasn't, it was sobs." "_She-cups_--what do you mean, child? Judy, come here, darling." "She-cups," repeated Babs. "Some people call them he-cups; but I don't when a girl has them." Judy came slowly up to the window. "Where were you going, my pet?" asked Aunt Marjorie. "Only for a walk," she answered. "A walk all by yourself? How pale you are, dearie. Have you a headache?" "No, Auntie." Aunt Marjorie pulled Judy forward. She felt her forehead and looked at her tongue, and put her in such a position that she could gaze down into her throat.