As I had told Mr. Russell, it was not so seldom as only once in six weeks that I had to show the Earl's present to somebody. Still, for some time past the watch had been allowed to lie undisturbed; and it didn't seem likely I should be called upon in a hurry. Most friends in the neighbourhood had seen it; and father wasn't one to make a great fuss and talk about the matter. But only two days after I had parted with the watch I found myself in difficulties. Mother had a note from Mary that morning by post: a short note, saying that she was at home, and sent love to us all. She spoke gratefully of all the kindness we had shown her, but she never mentioned her brother. I could not understand this: for the note was written next day after she left us, so of course he was at home with her. Mother seemed puzzled too, though not exactly about that. "Mary is in trouble," she said. "I wish I knew what is wrong." Well, in the afternoon of that same day, Mr. Armstrong came to call. That was nothing unusual; but he had a lady with him, a stranger to the place. The moment I saw them walking up the garden-path I had a sort of sinking with fright, for I guessed what would follow. If I could have run away, I would have made my escape. It was no use to think of that, though. I should only have met them at the door, as I went out; and besides, I was holding a big skein of grey yarn for mother to wind, which kept me fast to the spot. Father had just come in with a newspaper in his hand, and he had sat down to read it. Mr. Armstrong was sure of a welcome in our house. He had been a kind friend to us for many a long day. Mother laid aside the grey wool, and set a chair for the lady, while I got another for Mr. Armstrong. He told us he had brought his sister-in-law, Mrs. Withers, to make our acquaintance; and then he thanked me for the chair, shaking hands. "Why, Kitty," said he, "you don't look well, child. What's the matter?" For indeed the fright had made me queer. "Kitty don't seem just as she should be lately," mother said. "She has a sort of turn like that once in a way. Sit down, Kitty," says she. I did as mother told me, trying not to let them see how I shook, and getting a little less frightened as the minutes went by, and they only talked of things in general. "So your invalid has gone at last," Mr. Armstrong said to mother. "Yes," said she; "and sorry we are to lose her. There's not many folks like Mary Russell." "I am sure of that," said he. "She carries her goodness in her face." "It's genuine out-and-out goodness too," father said. "Why, now, she's been like a mother to that young brother of hers." "And he is grateful for it?" Mr. Armstrong spoke as if he was putting a question, not as if he was sure. "No doubt," says father. "He talks gratitude," mother says quite low. "But doesn't act it, perhaps," Mrs. Withers said. "Talk is easier than action, any day," Mr. Armstrong added, with a smile.