To hide the tears which would not be kept back Judith hastily left the study; he did not know, nobody could know, what obedience would cost her; life at the parsonage was so different; Roger and Marion were _young_ with her, and Aunt Rody and Aunt Affy, and Uncle Cephas were so _old_; they had lived their lives, and their days went on with a long-drawn-out sameness; nothing ever happened to them, they were not looking forward to anything, there would be no study, no new books, no music, no getting near the loveliest things in the world; it was barrenness and dreariness, it was like death; the parsonage was hope, and youth, and love and life, with the best things yet to come. “It will stifle me to go back; I shall die of homesickness, I shall choke to death.” Cousin Don had a right to her, he was her guardian cousin. Would he not have a right to come and take her away? But her mother—what would her mother choose for her to do? They had been so kind to her mother. “I will go and stay—a week,” she resolved, tears rushing afresh; “but I miss Marion when I stay one single night.” At the supper-table she announced with reddened eyelids and a voice that would not be steady that she thought she would go to Aunt Affy’s before evening service and stay over night; Uncle Cephas had told her that morning that Aunt Affy was very tired. “Must you go?” asked Marion. “But I know they need you. Mrs. Evans said they couldn’t get any one, and Aunt Rody was in bed to-day.” “Perhaps I’ll find it easier than I think,” said Judith. “As soon as they find a nurse you will come back,” encouraged Marion. During the walk through the village and to the Sparrow place Judith’s courage all oozed away; she grew so faint-hearted that she thought she was faint; she stopped for a glass of water at the well where the lilies had come, and went upstairs a moment to talk to Nettie, still helpless in her invalid chair. “The minister came to see me this afternoon,” Nettie greeted her; “he read and prayed and told me things. Has he told you anything?” “Yes, and I almost wish he had not. I _have_ to do right things—whether I want to or not.” “Are you doing one now? One new one. You look so.” “I am on the way to it.” “Where are you going?” “Literally and figuratively I am on the way to it. I am giving up study and everything else to go and take care of Aunt Rody.” “How splendid of you. I knew you would do something _real_ some day,” Nettie said with enthusiasm. “You haven’t been my ideal for nothing. Mother has kept telling me I might be disappointed in you; but I _knew_ I never should.” After that how could she feel faint-hearted? “O, Judith,” said Aunt Affy, meeting her on the piazza, “how did you know I couldn’t do without you any longer? Joe has gone for the doctor; Rody has had another spell.”