"Why, I only said he didn't come here no more, and I was awful sorry, 'cause he promised me a doll, and I've been waitin' for it awful hard. And it wasn't wrong, was it, to say that Aunt Fee was awful sorry too, and cried a whole lot about it? You know the Trewman girls like Aunt Fee, ever so much." There was a pronounced rustle in the hall, and Trif and Trixy hurried out just in time to see a sobbing girl hurrying up the stair. They followed her, but Fenie dashed into her own room, slammed the door, and shot the bolt with much unnecessary noise. She paid no attention to many knocks and gentle calls by her sister, so finally Trif sat down upon the top stair, placed her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, and looked so unhappy that Trixy cuddled to her side and kissed and caressed her. The child got no response, but a sad look which was so reproachful and prolonged that Trixy herself burst into tears and exclaimed: "Oh, dear! I wish I hadn't ever come down from heaven, or done anythin', or anythin', or anythin'." CHAPTER IV. IN CHARGE OF EACH OTHER. Harry Trewman and his sister were invited to dine with the Highwoods, although Fenie declared that after what had been said to them, neither of them would think for an instant of coming. For herself, she was sure that she couldn't and wouldn't face them for all the world, and that she never wanted to see either of them again. Should they accept the invitation, Fenie declared that she would excuse herself with the sick headache, which she certainly would have on the occasion. When, however, the Trewmans did decline, on the plea of a previous engagement, Fenie was so inconsistent as to declare that she was the most miserable person alive, and that she wished she was dead. Then every one in the house, from the master down to the single servant, became wretched, for Fenie had always been a cheerful creature, romping with Trixy as if she herself was not more than seven years old, singing merrily throughout the day, and working harder than any hireling when there was work to be done. Trif talked sensibly to the girl; Phil joked with her, but Trixy remained almost as silent as a mute, and looked as if she were laboring under a heavy load of remorse and contrition. Even her father's boisterous play, of which she was as fond as if she were a boy, was treated as if it was far too good for her, and as if she had no right to enjoy it. Then Phil began to worry. "Trif," said he, "you must reason that child out of her remorse, or you'll have an invalid on your hands."