“I don’t see why I should. It isn’t _that_ sort of thing I meant. I want to do something big which the boys will understand and care about--they would have forgotten all about the kite-tail by to-morrow. Besides it would be so tiresome--like keeping their book-shelves and toy cupboard tidy, as mamma sometimes wants me to. I don’t like doing that sort of work. It’s not interesting, and it doesn’t seem worth the trouble. If I could only think of it, I’m sure there must be some much better way. I hope I shall be able to find it out soon.” Puzzling her head over the matter, however, did not seem to help Winifred much, and she did not feel happy in herself, though she could hardly have told the reason why. She looked pale during the early dinner, and it seemed to her that mamma was more gentle and tender to her than ever. “Would you like a drive with me this afternoon, my darling?” asked Mrs. Digby. “Where are you going, mamma?” “To see Mrs. Hedlam. You can go and play a little while with Violet whilst I am there. She will be pleased to have you for a little visit.” “I should like to go, mamma; but I would rather stay in the carriage, thank you. I don’t think I am very fond of Violet, and I don’t feel inclined to play to-day.” “I can send her out to talk to you instead, then.” “No, thank you, mamma, I think I would rather be quiet, if you don’t mind?” “I don’t mind, darling, but I think poor little Violet would be disappointed. She has few playfellows, and it would give her pleasure to see you, I am sure,” answered the mother gently. “She need not know I have come,” said Winifred. “I don’t want to talk to-day, I want to think.” Just at this time Mrs. Digby did not feel as if she could urge the child against her wishes, even though the wishes were a little selfish. Her heart was sore and heavy that day, and very little talking was done upon the drive. Winifred sat still in the carriage as she had wished, and yet she could not feel happy or satisfied, and the trouble which had weighed upon her all the day seemed to grow heavier and heavier. “I don’t believe any one will miss me. I don’t believe any one will be sorry when I go. I must be quick and think what to do for people, for I should like them to be a little sorry and to want me back. Oh dear, I wish I was grown-up. Grown-up people can do such a lot of things. I haven’t thought yet of a single one, and I’ve been thinking hard all the day.” When Mrs. Digby came back she thought the child looked tired. “Not very, thank you,” answered Winifred, nestling up to her. “I have only been thinking. Did you see Violet to-day?” “Yes, dear.” “She didn’t ask if I had come?” “Yes, Winnie, she asked, and I told her you were in the carriage, but I did not let her go out. I explained that you were poorly to-day.” Winifred’s face grew red. “Did--did she seem sorry?” “I’m afraid so, a little sorry and a little vexed too; but she will not think about it long.”