There came a day when the lady, who had taken the pair of them into her affections, went away from home. She did not return for several weeks, and when she did so she determined to walk the mile and a half from the station to the village to enjoy the freshness of the country air after that of a stuffy railway carriage. Her shortest way was by a footpath which led through the fields at the back of the farmhouse. Near the stack-yard was a bit of grass ground, once an orchard, where a few old apple trees were still standing. Here the clothes lines were accustomed to be stretched between two or three sloping posts. Here she had often noticed the bit of colour against the greys of the house and the old tree stems when the two blue blouses had undergone the necessary wash, and were hanging out to dry.... On this particular afternoon the lady was hurrying home, delighting in every well-known sight and sound. She heard the geese in the yard, and saw the smoke curling up against the great elm-tree. Then she reached the orchard wall and looked across. The patch of blue caught her eye at once: but there was something wrong: never before had she seen only _one_ blouse on the line, just as she had never seen one of the boys alone. What did it mean? In another moment she caught sight of the younger child. “Why, where is Willie?” was the quick question. But there was no answer. For a moment the boy looked at her with big wondering eyes, then turned and was gone in an instant. She lost sight of him behind the laurel bush near the farmhouse door. So long as she lived that lady will never forget the dumb pathos of the child’s expression. Its explanation was one more little grave in the children’s corner of the churchyard. * * * * * These examples that have been given are of cases where the cause of the pathos discerned in children can be easily traced. It is not infrequently the case that something unhappy—something appealing—is noticed in a child, but that nothing can be discovered to account for it. The observer feels sure that there is something wrong, but all efforts to bring it to light or to be of any help are baffled. [Sidenote: The Deserted Cottage.] It was not so long ago that a man for whom children had a special interest found himself compelled to pass along the same country lane for many days in succession. At one point there stood a cottage which presented a blank end to the road, its windows and door facing a small garden and being in full view of passers-by for some distance. It had at first a most melancholy appearance owing to its having been for a long time unoccupied. The windows looked gloomy and black, the scrap of garden was overgrown and bedraggled, the old pear tree on the front had been blown loose and one branch hung in a dissipated manner over the porch, while on the path lay a couple of broken stone tiles which had fallen from the roof. [Sidenote: The Yellow Curtains.]