She gazed with ardent eyes at the familiar frame cottages, in some of which had lived school and high-school friends, sitting comfortably back amid their little squares of close-cropped lawn. She liked New York with that adoptive liking one acquires for the place one chooses from among all others for the passing of one's life; but her affection remained warm and steadfast with this old town of her girlhood. "Oh, but it feels good to be back in Westville again!" she cried to the cabman. "I reckon it must. I guess it's all of two years sence you been home." "Two years, yes. It's going to be a great celebration this afternoon, isn't it?" "Yes'm--very big"--and he hastily struck the ancient steed. "Get-ep there, Jenny!" Mr. Huggins's mare turned off Station Avenue, and Katharine excitedly stared ahead beneath the wide-boughed maples for the first glimpse of her home. At length it came into view--one of those big, square, old-fashioned wooden houses, built with no perceptible architectural idea beyond commodious shelter. She had thought her father might possibly stumble out to greet her, but no one stood waiting at the paling gate. She sprang lightly from the carriage as it drew up beside the curb, and leaving Mr. Huggins to follow with her bag she hurried up the brick-paved path to the house. As she crossed the porch, a slight, gray, Quakerish little lady, with a white kerchief folded across her breast, pushed open the screen door. Her Katherine gathered into her arms and kissed repeatedly. "I'm so glad to see you, auntie!" she cried. "How are you?" "Very well," the old woman answered in a thin, tremulous voice. "How is thee?" "Me? Oh, you know nothing's ever wrong with me!" She laughed in her buoyant young strength. "But you, auntie?" She grew serious. "You look very tired--and very, very worn and worried. But I suppose it's the strain of father's headache--poor father! How is he?" "I--I think he's feeling some better," the old woman faltered. "He's still lying down." They had entered the big, airy sitting-room. Katherine's hat and coat went flying upon the couch. "Now, before I so much as ask you a question, or tell you a thing, Aunt Rachel, I'm going up to see dear old father." She made for the stairway, but her aunt caught her arm in consternation. "Wait, Katherine! Thee musn't see him yet." "Why, what's the matter?" Katherine asked in surprise. "It--it would be better for him if thee didn't disturb him." "But, auntie--you know no one can soothe him as I can when he has a headache!" "But he's asleep just now. He didn't sleep a minute all night." "Then of course I'll wait." Katherine turned back. "Has he suffered much----" She broke off. Her aunt was gazing at her in wide-eyed, helpless misery. "Why--why--what's the matter, auntie?" Her aunt did not answer her. "Tell me! What is it? What's wrong?" Still the old woman did not speak.