Yes, oh yes, there was Mahala! She was all engaged to come and do it. She was good-hearted and strong. She would be sure to treat them all well and take splendid care of Motherdie. Helen rocked back and forth contentedly. They wanted her to go--father and mother, and the Arabs would soon get used to doing without her. Dear little Arabs! She looked down at the smallest one of them, still trying to stand the clothes-pins round the edge of the big bright pan. She was improving steadily. Let's see--to-morrow--day after--day after that. Then she was going. It would be a new world opening suddenly to her, and she shut her eyes to dream the wonderful dreams more uninterruptedly. Ever since she had drummed baby tunes on the tin cake-box, by the hour at a time, she had been growing hungrier to learn to materialize the untamed melodies that ran riot in her mind, and made her fingers tingle with impotent longing. And now it was coming--her chance! Three days away! But as the three days came and went Helen's visions grew more clouded and overcast with secret misgivings. She found herself worrying for fear Mahala would not remember some of the little trivial comforts she herself had taken such delight in remembering for Motherdie. And there were the baby's soft little shoes that needed patching, and Harry's trousers, and the dish-towels were in dire need of replenishment. If she only had a dozen hands these last days, and a dozen times a dozen hours to use them! Her heart misgave her uncomfortably. But they _wanted_ her to go--of course it was just right. Nevertheless, her face grew sober and thoughtful, and something tugged distressingly at her heart-strings. The day after, and the day after that came. Helen kissed her mother over and over, and hugged the little Arabs fiercely, and went away. The houses and people on the way to the depot danced about dizzily in a mist, and she felt dizzy and topsy-turvy in acute sympathy with them. Her father walked beside her, talking briskly and constantly. Roy walked on ahead with her valise and umbrella, and never once looked around. Helen watched him through the same confusing mist, and his straight, slim little figure was oddly contorted. He had never looked bow-legged before, Helen thought in dismay! The train puffed in and puffed out again, with a little maid, stricken with sudden, overwhelming forlornness, in the corner of one of its seats. A plump, benign-looking old lady sat just behind her, and watched her with curious sympathy. The baby two seats ahead leaned over toward her insinuatingly, and made her think of _the_ baby and the clothes-pins. Mahala would never remember the clothes-pins--_never_! And she had forgotten Harry's patch, that she meant to see to last night surely. Mahala'd forget _that_, too. Helen started involuntarily to her feet. [Illustration: "WHAT IS IT, DEARIE? YOU FORGOT SOMETHIN'?"]