The quick blood flew into the girl's face. "Dear" on his lips seemed not only a new word in the language; it called into being something that the wide world lacked before. It struck Val into silence. She sat and looked in her plate. "We do the printing in father's room when he's well enough to be out digging and fussing with flowers," said Emmie. "It's a thing we started ages ago, when we were young," Val explained. "It amuses Emmie." "But there's _no_ reason to give it up _now_," urged the younger girl. "We thought we'd have to once for lack of paper," she said to Ethan. "Grandma gave us only half-sheets. Then Val discovered great-grandfather Calvert's old counting-house books." "How did you do that?" "They were in the closet under the stairs," said Val. "An' Jerusha and Venie and most everybody thought there was a ghost there," added Emmie, with a certain reverence in her voice. "Val said she was goin' to see, and that was how we found all that jolly paper for the _Comet_." "Emmie writes most of the poetry and all of the stories; I do the illustrations," said Val. "_And_ the conundrums _and_ the 'Advice to Parents' column. Oh, Val, what would happen to you if grandma ever saw--" She began to laugh. "Miss Val," said Jerusha, putting her head in at the door, "yo' kin run so fas', honey, an' Miss G'no say de doctor's kerridge is a stan'in' at de Tibbses do'; will yo' say de doctor's wanted yer fur Massa John." Val was off like an arrow from a bow before the old woman had finished. Dr. Wharton was some time up-stairs. Mrs. Gano and Ethan were both in the sick-room. The verdict was that Mr. Gano was not, after all, dangerously ill, but ought to go South before it was too cold for him to travel, and that, at all events, the idea of going to New York in November was absolutely out of the question--"sheer madness." The first keen edge of Val's anxiety wore off in an hour or so. Her father sent for her. He wasn't really even so ill as the doctor made out. Still, it was very sadly, and with a misgiving foreign to her experience, that she agreed to put off their joint expedition till the spring. "And meanwhile," said her father, "since you are ambitious to be of use, it would be well if you took a more active part in the care of the house. Jerusha is very, very old, and--" "I _do_ take care of my own room." "Ah yes, but there are other things--" "Before cousin Ethan came I used to help Venus on Saturdays with the parlor." "_Before_ Ethan came?" "Yes; I can't do it while he's here." "Why not?" "Oh, it looks so odd. None of the other girls do. Head in a dust-cap, and horrid black hands! Grandma wouldn't like it at all, not while we have company." Val seized the opportunity afforded by her father's fit of coughing to consider her audience at an end. When she came down-stairs from this interview, she found Emmie wandering about disconsolately. Ethan closeted with grandma. No lessons this morning.