“I can’t stay,—I won’t stay,—I’ll go this very night!” thought Mildred, as blow after blow fell upon her uncovered neck and arms. Then as her eye fell upon the white-faced Oliver, who apparently suffered more than herself, she felt a moment’s indecision. Oliver would miss her,—Oliver would cry when he found that she was gone, but Lawrence Thornton would get him a place as chore boy somewhere near her, and then they would be so happy in the great city, where Hepsy’s tongue could not reach them. She did not think that money would be needed to carry her to Boston, for she had been kept so close at home that she knew little of the world, and she fancied that she had only to steal away to the depot unobserved, and the rest would follow, as a matter of course. The conductor would take her when she told him of Hepsy, as she meant to do, and once in the city anybody would tell her where Lawrence Thornton lived. This being satisfactorily settled, her next step was to pin up in a cotton handkerchief her best calico dress and pantalets, for if the Lady Geraldine were proud as Lawrence Thornton had said, she would want her waiting-maid to look as smart as possible. Accordingly the faded frock and dimity pantalets, which had not been worn since that memorable visit to Beechwood, were made into a bundle, Mildred thinking the while how she would put them on in the woods, where there was no danger of being detected by old Hepsy, who was screaming for her to come down and fill the kettle. “It’s the last time I shall do it,” thought Mildred, as she descended the stairs and began to make her usual preparation for the supper, and the little girl’s step was lighter at the prospect of her release from bondage. But every time she looked at Oliver, who was suffering from a sick headache, the tears came to her eyes, and she was more than once tempted to give up her wild project of running away. “Dear Oliver,” she whispered, when at last the supper was over, the dishes washed, the floor swept, and it was almost time for her to go. “Dear Oliver,” and going over to where he sat, she pressed her hand upon his throbbing temples,—“you are the dearest, kindest brother that ever was born, and you must remember how much I love you, if anything should happen.” Oliver did not heed the last part of her remark, he only knew he liked to have her warm hand on his forehead, it made him feel better, and placing his own thin fingers over it he kept it there a long time, while Mildred glanced nervously at the clock, whose constantly moving minute-hand warned her it was time to go. Immediately after supper Hepsy had taken her knitting and gone to spend the evening with Widow Simms, and in her absence Mildred dared do things she would otherwise have left undone. Kneeling down by Oliver and laying her head upon his knee, she said: