Kat was at the gate, and started out the moment she saw Kittie coming, to meet her. She was quite as ashy colored as ever brown-faced, rosy-cheeked Kat could be, and she was trembling as with a fit of ague, and as Kittie saw her, the question died on her lips, and she could only look her fear, as Kat burst forth:-- "She hasn't come--don't know anything about her; but Bea went up in the garret this morning to open the windows, and ever since she came down, she's been crying and pretty near fainted; won't tell me anything, and I thought you never would come. What _shall_ we do?" "Oh, I don't know; why didn't I tell Mrs. Dane? I felt as if I ought to," cried Kittie, standing still in despair for a moment; then pulling off her hat and shawl, she put them on her sister in a hurry. "There, Kat, run; I'm so tired, you can go the fastest; go to Mr. Phillips, ask him to take Prince and go for mama, quick;" and, without a second thought, Kat dashed down the street at her most breathless flying speed, not caring who saw, or what they thought, and feeling as though she had done the right thing. Kittie hurried into the house; she was alarmed, indeed, at the violence of Bea's crying, and after trying in vain to find some cause, or give some comfort, gave up in despair. "Don't ask me," Bea would cry, when questioned. "I can't tell! Oh, if mama was only here! What shall I do?" "I've sent for her!" exclaimed Kittie, with a great sigh of relief. "Kat has gone now to ask Mr. Phillips, and she'll be here this afternoon, I know." Bea looked up for an instant, with a flash of relief in her face, then burst out again, crying more bitterly than ever, and with a vehemence that shook her from head to foot. "What ever can it be?" thought Kittie, flying up stairs, and off to the garret in desperation; but, pausing as she reached the door, and shaking with a sudden terror. What if Ernestine should be in there dead, or something? She shook and hesitated, but finally opened the door, for Kittie was brave, and looked in! Nothing seemed to be the matter. The sunshine came warmly in at the windows and illumined every corner. The little black trunk stood there, but it was closed, and she did not notice it, though she went all around, and amazed to find nothing out of place. Over in an unused corner, for the garret was very large, stood a big dry-goods box that Mr. Dering had long kept some things packed in, but on the very day before his sudden death, he had been up in the garret, unnailed the heavy cover, and gone to the bottom for some things that he wanted, and then hurried away, intending to repack, and nail up, on his return; but in the little act, was a mighty working of Providence, or fate; the box had remained just so, with its dislodged contents at its side, the little black trunk among them, and the garret having been rarely entered during the winter, it had not been noticed or remedied.