"MY DEAR LITTLE GIRL,--You will know that I feel very sorry to cut short your visit, but Winny is not well, and Joe is ailing, and I am afraid you must come home at once. You will get this letter about three o'clock on Tuesday, and Mr. Barlow is coming up from New York on the six-o'clock train; so if Cousin Mary will see you safely to the dépôt, Mr. B. will look out for you. "In haste, your loving FATHER." For a moment I sat still in the big arm-chair, staring at the letter, not realizing just what it meant. Then I glanced at the clock. Yes, it was only half past three. There was time to say good-by to them all, and get down to the dépôt long before six; and as I said this mechanically to myself, I burst into tears--selfish tears, I regret to say; tears not for Winny and Joe at home, but for my great disappointment. It was while I was crying that I began to think it would not really be _necessary_ for me to go--no one knew of papa's letter; why need I tell them until tomorrow? Surely twenty-four hours more or less could make no difference. Winny would be the last person in the world to wish to spoil my pleasure this way; and then she could not be _very_ ill, or papa would have said so. There was Hester, our old nurse, always ready to come up from the village when she was needed. As the temptation to conceal my letter and disobey papa came upon me, I grew more sharply conscious of everything around me. The fire burned more brightly, the ticking of the clock seemed louder, and the snow-flakes fell against the windows of the long room whiter and softer. Five minutes of selfish reasoning passed, and then I had begun to see in myself only an injured and reasoning person. I would wait until the morning. With this decision, I crushed the letter into my pocket, seized the book Kate wanted, and hurried out into the hall. But I never shall forget how like a watched and guilty being I felt. The stairs looked shadowy; I almost longed for courage to go into the attic, read them all my letter, and say good-by; but the first sight of the gay little company, the mimic stage, Milly seated on a ladder sewing curtain-rings, Jessie Price trailing up and down the "boards" rehearsing her part, Kate and Mary and Mr. Ludlow arranging candles, dispelled my conscience-pricks; it was too fascinating to be left. Milly looked up from her sewing. "Well," she exclaimed, "what has kept you down stairs so long, Ruth?" I felt confused, but tried to answer carelessly: "Oh, I was in the parlor." Mr. Ludlow turned around suddenly. "Why, was that Ruth's voice?" he exclaimed. I felt my cheeks flame, but I laughed, a little defiantly. "Certainly, sir," I answered. And then Mr. Ludlow looked at me gravely for a moment, but said no more. "Here, Ruthie," Kate said, "go and find that other red curtain, will you, like a dear?"