Joan was so quiet, so reserved, so strong. Strong, yes, that was the right word, strong and protective. She loved stray cats and starving dogs and fledgelings that had tumbled out of their nests, such things made her cry; stray cats, starving dogs, fledgelings and Mrs. Ogden. Elizabeth laughed inwardly. Mrs. Ogden was so exactly like a lost fledgeling, with her hopeless look and her big eyes; she was also rather like a starving dog. Elizabeth paused just here to consider. Starving, what for? She shuddered. Had Mrs. Ogden always been so hungry? She was positively ravenous, you could feel it about her, her hunger came at you and made you feel embarrassed. Poor woman, poor woman, poor Joan--why poor Joan? She was brilliant; Elizabeth sighed; she herself had never been brilliant, only a very capable turner of sods. Joan was quietly, persistently brilliant; no flash, no sparks, just a steady, glowing light. Joan at twelve was a splendid pupil; she thought too. When you could make her talk she said things that arrested. Joan would go--where would she go? To Oxford or Cambridge probably; no matter where she went she would made her mark--Elizabeth was proud of Joan. She glanced at her pupil sideways and sighed again. Joan worried her, Mrs. Ogden worried her, they worried her separately and collectively. They were so different, so antagonistic, these two, and yet so curiously drawn together. Elizabeth roused Joan sharply: "Come on, it's late! It's nearly tea time." They hurried down the hill. "I must get that wool at Spink's," said Joan. "What wool?" "Mother's--for her knitting." "Won't to-morrow do?" "No." "But it's at the other end of the town." "Never mind, you and Milly go home. I'll just go on and fetch it." They parted at the front door. "Don't be long," Elizabeth called after her. Joan waved her hand. Half an hour later she was back with the wool. In the hall Mrs. Ogden met her. "My darling!" "Here it is, Mother." "But, my darling, it's not the same thickness!" "Not the same----" Joan was tired. "It won't do at all, dearest, you must ask for double Berlin." "But I did!" "Then they must change it. Oh, dear; and I wanted to get that waistcoat finished and put away to-night; it only requires such a little wee bit of wool!" Mrs. Ogden sighed. Her face became suddenly very sad. Joan did not think that it could be the wool that had saddened her. "What is it, Mother?" "Nothing, Joan----" "Oh, yes, you're unhappy, darling; I'll go and change the wool before lessons to-morrow." "It's not the wool, dear, it's---- Never mind, run and get your tea." They kissed. In the schoolroom Joan relapsed into silence; she looked almost morose. Her short, thick hair fell angrily over her eyes--Elizabeth watched her covertly. CHAPTER FOUR 1