The quiet voice ceased speaking, and Glory, with a little stifled sob, hid her face in the pillows. She understood. "Oh, I forgot something in the story," Aunt Hope went on presently, her cheek against Glory's hair. "I forgot the best part! The Brother took care of the girl after that. He was the mother then. Even after he had a home of his own and a little baby, it was just the same. But he had to go away for years at a time, and the baby's mother was dead, so it came about that the girl--or rather woman; she is a woman now--had the little baby almost always to herself. It was beautiful, beautiful, until the little mischief took it into her head to grow up. Even then it wasn't so very bad! For, don't you see, she would fall heir to the Ambition by and by? So the woman was always hoping. And she hasn't quite given up hoping yet." There was silence in the big, dark room. Glory got to her feet. Her voice trembled as she began to speak, and she hurried over the words as if she were afraid she might cry. "I'm going down to Judy's to--to get her books. Then I'm coming home and--and study, auntie. Good-by," she stumbled. "Good-by, dear," said Aunt Hope, softly. "It was hard to tell her the story like that," she thought, half repenting. "Glory understands things instantly, and they hurt. But she is so precious--I had to tell it!" That night Glory's light burned a good deal later than it ever had before, and Glory's bright head bent doggedly over Judy's books. Glory and Aunt Hope's beloved Ambition were so close that night that they almost touched each other. Not quite. It was dull and bleak next day, and Glory was tired. The fierce little spark of energy seemed to have flickered out altogether. "Don't say 'good-by, dear,'--say, 'Good-by, Disappointment,'" she said at Aunt Hope's couch the last moment. "Good-by, _dear_," said Aunt Hope. The early morning train was in the little station when Glory got there. She had just time to whisk up the steps on to the platform. The Crosspatch Conductor swung himself up after her. Glory eyed his empty hands with distinct disappointment. "Haven't you got my books?" she panted, out of breath with her hurrying. "Nary a book," the conductor said shortly. "Couldn't find 'em. Went through the whole train. _Weren't_ any books. You'll have to hang on to 'em next time, young lady." "I don't see how I can if I can't find 'em," sighed the "young lady." She went into the car and sat down heavily. Oh, it was too bad! She had been so sure the conductor would have them for her. She didn't want to lose them--not now, after that story. Oh, poor auntie! There were not many early morning passengers. Among others Glory noticed an old man and two young men with dinner pails, and old lady without one, and a girl in a shabby jacket. She hadn't any dinner pail in sight, anyway. She sat in the seat ahead of Glory and pored over a book. She seemed buried--lost--in it.