"Oh, yes, I suppose so; at least, I don't quite know what you mean," returned Bessie; but she was not thinking of the question. The stars were glittering overhead, and Richard Sefton's words recurred to her. How clearly she could see it all! The little lonely boy in his cot, the young mother coming up to soothe him. She could picture her so plainly in the white shining gown and the sparkling cross, with the tears falling on the child's face. "Oh, that I and my little child were there now!" Oh, how sad it all sounded; and she had gone, and not taken the boy with her. "Poor Mr. Sefton!" thought Bessie, as she recalled the sad, quiet tones and the moved look on Richard's face. CHAPTER XIII. WHITEFOOT IN REQUISITION. Three days after this Bessie wrote the following letter--it was commenced on Wednesday, and finished on Thursday morning: "MY DEAR LITTLE HATTIE: It is your turn for a regular long letter, as I have already written to mother and Christine. I don't write to father because he is so busy, and letters bother him; but you must tell him all the news. You cannot think how Edna laughs at my correspondence; she always says it is such waste of time; but you and I know better than that. It is just the one thing that I can do for you all, now that I am away, and I am not so selfish that I grudge an hour in the day. I know how disappointed one face looks when there is no letter from Bessie in the morning, and so I lay down my book and scribble away as I am doing now. "I am having a lovely time. I do not think I have ever played so much in my life before. It is such a new thing, and yet it is rather nice, too, to hear Edna say in the morning, 'Now, what shall we do to-day?' as though one's whole duty were to amuse one's self. Father always says, 'Whatever you do, do it thoroughly,' and I am carrying out his maxim to the letter, for I do nothing but enjoy myself, and I do it thoroughly. On Monday I finished my letter to Crissy before breakfast, and afterward, as Edna was busy, I spent a long morning reading 'The Village on the Cliff.' I have finished it now, and think it lovely. I do enjoy these mornings in the garden; but I must not read too many stories, only Edna says I shall like 'Old Kensington,' and I must indulge myself with that. I assure you we make quite a picture. Mac lies at my feet, and Spot generally curls himself up on my lap. Tim prefers lying on the lawn and keeping an eye upon the kitten. She is such a droll little creature, and her antics quite distract me.