"You mean west again?" A little shock tingled through Catherine, quite as if, while she looked at a group of familiar thoughts, an outside hand shifted the spotlight, and at once a different color lay upon them, changing them. "You hadn't finished the work, had you?" "No." That was all Catherine could say. "Well, Spencer's all right, isn't he?" "Yes," heavily from Catherine. Silence for a moment. Then Margaret, forcefully: "I'd like to come right out to-night. Don't be a fool, Cathy! I know just what's happened to you, old dear! Don't you let it! But Amy's waiting for me, and I'm starved." Catherine stared at the round black mouthpiece. If she could hold that light Margaret threw over things--in which nothing looked the same. But she couldn't talk. "I'll expect you to-morrow, then?" she asked. "Yes. Early." * * * * * Charles was telling the children the story of the bantam hen he had owned when he was a little boy. Letty was curled up on his knees, Marian sat on the arm of his chair, his arm about her, Spencer had drawn his chair close. "And I used to carry her around in the pocket of my coat, with just her head sticking out, and her bright shiny eyes and her yellow bill." "Yellow bill?" murmured Letty. "Just how big was she, Daddy?" Marian asked. "I'd like a hen like that," said Spencer. "Some day maybe we can live in a decent place, where we can have hens." "And a dog, Father?" "No, a kitty. A little gray soft kitty." Marian looked anxiously at her father. "I'd much rather have a kitty, Daddy." "We might have both"--and as Letty opened her mouth wide and pink for a protest--"yes, and Letty could have a kitty or a dog or a pet hen. Well, my bantam's name was Mitty. One day----" Catherine stepped softly away from the door. She could get Letty's bath ready. And she must transfer bedclothes. Spencer was to move into his own room again, and she had forgotten to ask Mrs. O'Lay to arrange the beds. When she went in for Letty, the story had gone on to a dog. Mr. Bill's dog. He lived next door, Charles was explaining, and he was bigger than I was. His dog was shaggy. Letty, protesting, came, full of incoherencies about dogs and kittens and chickens. "Muvver, to-day Letty wants li'l dog an' li'l kitty an' li'l shickey." "Not to-day. To-day's over. Now you are a fish." And Letty swam vigorously. Catherine stood beside her cot, looking down at her, fragrant, pink, beatific. A decent place to live in--with live things around them instead of city streets. A tiny, distant alarm clanged in her mind. That was what Charles had said, when he spoke of the offer at Buxton. Was he thinking about that, still? What _was_ he thinking about! Spencer had his bath, refusing her assistance with firm dignity. He was silent, standing at the door of his own room, a thin, pajamaed figure, looking at his own cot.