Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed. [Illustration: "I had opened the shawl as I ran, and now I waved it wildly about."] LEAST SAID, SOONEST MENDED. BY AGNES GIBERNE, AUTHOR OF "KATHLEEN," "MISS CON," "READY, AYE READY!" ETC. "He that refraineth his lips is wise." — PROV. X. 19. London: JAMES NISBET & CO., LIMITED, 21 BERNERS STREET. 1898. CONTENTS. CHAP. I. THE AFTERNOON EXPRESS II. A GOLD WATCH III. TWO OF THEM IV. TWICE GOOD-BYE! V. RUPERT VI. THE EARL'S GIFT VII. THE SEARCH VIII. FOUND OUT IX. THEN— X. SHARP AND SUDDEN XI. IN CHURCH XII. ON A PLATFORM XIII. WITH MY MOTHER XIV. RUPERT'S RETURN "LEAST SAID, SOONEST MENDED." CHAPTER I. THE AFTERNOON EXPRESS. THAT'S what my mother was fond of saying to me. "Least said, soonest mended, Kitty," says she, when people gossiped, or when folks got angry. And, dear me, there's a lot of hot words spoken, and a lot of gossip going on, and no mistake! Anyway, there was in those days when I was a girl. Talk! talk! the neighbours rattling like a set of parrots about anything and nothing. I'll not say either that the men were much better than the women, though there's no doubt they ought to be, seeing man was made superior. "Least said, soonest mended, Kitty!" says my mother to me many a time, when she thought my tongue had been wagging too fast. Mother was a rare one for silence. Looking back now, I'm sure there's not many like her. She'd go for hours, and be quite content, never saying a word. I don't think she ever did speak just for the sake of speaking, and without a needs-be. She wasn't dull either. Some silent people are dull; but not mother. For, you see, she didn't keep silent because she never had anything to say; and there was something about her very look that kept people alive. I think I see her now—middle-aged, and going on for plumpness, with smooth brown hair, and a smooth forehead, and such a pair of quick eyes. Mother's eyes did a lot of speaking, when her lips were silent. Nothing ever escaped those eyes. She didn't always talk about what she saw, and she didn't forget it. Mother was always neat, as if she had just come out of a band-box. She used to wear a brown stuff gown commonly, after her rough work of a morning was done, and a white apron. Every hour of the day, and every day of the week, had its own work. She never got into a muddle like the neighbours, who were for ever cleaning up, and for ever in a mess: and as for doing her washing "just any day," like them, she would have scorned the thought. I believe things would have been the same with her, if she had had a dozen children, instead of only one girl. But, after all, there's no knowing. It's a wonderful drag on a woman, to have a lot of children, and not enough money or room for the bringing of them up.