These thoughts made Mrs. Cragg additionally unpleasant to Pattie, and Pattie noticed the fact with some wonder. She supposed that Mrs. Cragg was growing tired of her presence in the house, and she began to cast about in her mind where to look for work. When she consulted Cragg, he put the matter aside, and said, "No hurry yet awhile." But Pattie did not fall in with this view. Hers was not a suspicious temperament. Although the idea had flashed across her, in connection with Mrs. Cragg's look and with the fact of her disturbed cupboard, that Mrs. Cragg might have been examining something in her room, and might have locked the door, she had not encouraged the notion, but had done her best to dismiss it. She had a horror of suspecting falsely. That she would sooner or later leave the Craggs, and go out to make her own way, was settled in her mind, though she knew that it might not be possible for a while. When the time should come, her trouble would be having to say good-bye to Dot. The child had twisted herself in and out among Pattie's heart-strings, and life apart from Dot wore a forlorn aspect. On Sunday afternoon Dot was always supposed to be in Mrs. Cragg's charge, while the nursery-maid went to church. Of late, being with her mother had really meant being with Pattie. Next Sunday Mrs. Cragg, having eaten a heavy dinner, was, or appeared to be, particularly sleepy, and she sat nodding drowsily on the sofa. The sleepiness was partly put on, for Mrs. Cragg was deep in cogitation. She had not yet restored the letters to their box in Pattie's cupboard. If she could not put them back soon, she would have to burn them, for fear of accidental discovery; but that she was reluctant to do, for more reasons than one —and by no means for Pattie's sake. There had been some talk of letting Dot go to the children's service with Pattie, and Mrs. Cragg presently asked, with a yawn,— "Are you going to take Dot to church?" "Dot would like it, if I may." "I don't care if you do. You'll have to be in good time. And Dot must sit still." "Dot will behave like a mouse. Yes, we will go early. It is too soon yet. The bells won't begin for some time." "Tell me that tory adain," begged Dot. "About wicked naughty Gazi." "But you know it, Dot. Suppose you tell me instead." Dot pulled herself upright, and assumed a solemn air. "Gazi was a naughty wicked tory-teller," she said. "Tory-tellers am always wicked. And when Lisha asked him, 'Where'd he'd been and wented to?'—Gazi said he'd not been wented nowhere. And then he got all twite whited all over him." "But he had been somewhere, hadn't he?"