"I ain't going to lose my place," said Miss Catherine, firmly; and with a lifted chin was leaving to lay off her things, when the cook's nice copper-saucepan face was pushed a little inside the door. "What's the matter?" she asked, cheerily, and stepped in. Her high-colored shawl was pinned on her breast with a big brooch; her bonnet-strings were nearly lost in her fat chin. "What's it all about? Whose nice little girl is this?" Gradually she got the whole story, and going straight to Tibbie lifted her miserable little face, saying: "Don't you feel bad one bit, darlin'! It was all an accident, and it's no good crying over spilt milk. And if Mrs. Darling gets mad at you, she ain't the real lady I take her for. Why, I gave my Clary a new doll to-night, and it's ready for a new head this minute. And did I stop to rear and tear about it? Not a bit of it. Why, bless you, she didn't go for to do it! What child smashes a doll a purpose? You're a pretty set, the whole gang of you, to pitch into a mite like this!" Tibbie by this time was freely weeping, and Sally and the cook together were trying to comfort and silence her. "I've a great mind to stay here myself and stand up for her, yer pack of old maids, the lot of yer!" said the cook, looking hard at Mrs. Bonnet, who had reappeared without her hat and coat. "You will oblige me, Mrs. MacGrath, by doing nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Bonnet. "We've no need to have a whole scene from the drama. You've no business on this floor anyhow, and I must insist on your keeping yourself in your own quarters." "And I'll take my own time, yer born Britisher," said Mrs. MacGrath. Then putting her arm around Tibbie: "Well, Tibbie dear, you can be sure of this: however bad this seems, it'll soon be over. And if Mrs. Darling does scold, it'll soon be over too. It'll all be looking different to you in the morning. However things goes, you'll soon be forgetting all about it. And to-morrow is Christmas Day, that our own dear Lord was born on, and I'll bake you a little cake and send it to you by Sally." "But Sally's going to be sent away," sobbed Tibbie. "So she might be, but I feel it in my little toe that she ain't going to be." "Well, and if I am, I am, and there an end," said Sally, bravely. "But I don't see why she can't take the price of the doll out of my wages and let me stay." "I think you'll find," said Mrs. Bonnet, "that it ain't most particularly the cost of the doll gets you into trouble--There she comes this minute!" The door-bell had rung. Profound silence reigned above, while all listened. Tibbie stopped crying. "Good-night," came Mrs. Darling's sweet voice, presently, floating up from the foot of the stairs. "Good-night," came the Rev. Dorel Goodhue's. There was a rustle of silken skirts. "Oh, Cousin Cynthia!" "Yes?" "At ten, did you say--or half past?" "I said ten--_or_ half past. Good-night." More rustling of skirts; then, "Oh, Cousin Dorel--" "Yes?" from the foot of the stairs.