"Oh, why did you girls ever come here and make us so fond of you, and then have to go and leave us!" wailed Jean. "I wish you hadn't come in the first place." "I don't," said Polly steadily; "I'm glad I've had just this one year of knowing you. It's ever so much better than nothing, and I'm thankful even for this. Besides," she added, valiantly brushing away the tears, "I don't mean to cry yet, for we have all day to-morrow, and Tuesday morning; and then, you'll come back again some day. When you are gone is time enough to do the crying." And smiling resolutely, she bade them good night, then went away up the street, with the tears running down her cheeks. "Come, Alan," said Katharine, early the next morning; "come down to the post-office with me. My letter from home must be here by this time, and I'm in a hurry to get it, to see if papa is going to come for us. It takes Jessie so long to get ready, that we won't wait for her." They walked away together, laughing and talking as they went, determined to forget the morrow, and only enjoy the bright, beautiful morning and their pleasure in each other's society. At the post-office, Alan ran inside, leaving his cousin to wait for him at the door. "Here it is, sure enough, Kit," he said, as he joined her again. "What a little thin one, and from mamma, too!" said Katharine, as she deliberately tore it open. "Papa must be away on one of his business trips, I suppose." Alan made no reply, but left her to read her letter while he walked along at her side, whistling softly to himself. All at once he heard a low exclamation, like a half-smothered cry of pain. Turning quickly, he saw his cousin's face was ashy white, and her breath was coming in short, quick gasps. "Katharine! What is it?" he cried, in terror at the change in her face. For answer, she held out the letter to him. "Oh, Alan, what does it mean?" He thought she was going to fall, and threw his arm around her to support her, but she rallied quickly. "Read it, Alan," she begged. "I can't seem to understand it." Alan read it. But before he was half through it, his face was as white as hers had been. "Oh, Kit!" he began; then he paused, not daring to offer one word of pity. The short letter was the bitter outcry of a selfish woman who forgot her children's suffering in her own, for it bore its sad message abruptly and with no word to soften the blow. Mr. Shepard had proved to be a defaulter and, after he had for years been using money from the bank of which he was president, he had saved himself, on the eve of exposure, by hastily quitting the country, leaving his wife and children to bear the burden of his guilt as best they could. "Papa has taken money that didn't belong to him; is that it, Alan?" said Katharine slowly, as if dazed by the sudden shock. "I can't believe it. How can mamma say such a cruel thing?" she added indignantly.