Sometime later, after successfully eluding the laughing group, she stole away to her room, locked the door, and tore open the envelope with hands that trembled so violently she could scarcely control them, whispering to herself, "What can Tom be doing at home? College doesn't close for a month yet. I wonder if his money is all gone, and he can't finish the term. Or has Dad sent for him to help out in the mine? No, he wouldn't do that, surely." She spread the rattling paper out on the table, and with difficulty spelled out the scrawl written with pencil and evidently in much haste. The message was brief: Dear Puss:--I suppose you have already heard the good news of the strike on Dad's claims. I meant to have written you about it before, but have been too busy. The vein is larger than at first appeared, and quite rich; but of course we can't tell yet whether it is more than a pocket. We think it is a sure-enough vein, however. In timbering a shaft which threatened to cave in, Dad was hurt, and they sent for me. We have him at the house, for he refused to be taken to the Miners' Hospital. I am glad it happened so near the end of the college year. If he gets along all right, I can take the examinations I must miss now in September, and go along with the work of the class next year. When will your school be out? I don't think you have ever said. I suppose you are busy now getting ready for examinations--or don't you have such things there? Don't study _too_ hard, Puss, and don't be alarmed about Dad. With love, TOM. The letter fluttered unheeded to the floor, and Tabitha, having read anxiety between the lines, sat in a brown study. Dad hurt, Tom at home, Aunt Maria in the East! She was only a little girl, but she could help a great deal around the house, and maybe--maybe she could be of assistance in the sick-room. She shuddered at this thought, for fear of her father was still strong in her heart. But she could not shirk her duty; she must go home. She gathered up the letter, stole out of the room and down to the principal's office, where she found Miss Pomeroy still at work at her desk. "What is it, dear?" asked the busy woman, smiling up from her papers at the sober yet determined black eyes. "I am going home," answered the girl, laying Tom's message on the desk and waiting for it to be read. When Miss Pomeroy had finished, she turned to the child at her side, and slipping her arm about the slight figure, drew her close, saying, "You think they need you, dear? He doesn't say anything about wanting you to come." "Oh, Tom wouldn't ask me to come, no matter how much he might want me. But there is no one at home in Silver Bow to take care of Dad, except Tom, and men don't know much about nursing sick folks. I _ought_ to go."