In a frightened, huddled group near her stood Gassy, David, and the Kid, staring at their mother, who lay on the floor perfectly quiet. Jack and Ellen stood by, with water and cloths, and the doctor was gently sponging away the blood from a cut on Mrs. Grafton’s temple. No one spoke to Barbara or noticed her. As she crossed over, brushing the children from her path, her father looked up and saw the alarmed look on her face. “Your mother fainted, that’s all,” he said reassuringly. “She fell from the sewing-machine and cut herself. But she will be all right soon!” Mrs. Grafton opened her eyes and faintly smiled. “O mother dear!” cried Barbara. “O mother! It is my fault! I said I would do those sheets yesterday.” Mrs. Grafton began to cry. “I don’t want to hear about sheets,” she sobbed weakly. “No, dear, no, dear, you needn’t,” soothed the doctor, motioning Barbara away. It was a new sensation to Barbara to stand back, while the doctor carried Mrs. Grafton upstairs to her room, and, aided only slightly, put her to bed. Mechanically she did as ordered, and followed her father out of the room, when her mother had fallen asleep, with a feeling that the end of the world had come, and that “system” had deserted the universe. “Yes, it is a nervous break-down,” said the doctor, throwing himself into an easy-chair in the living-room. “I might have known that it would come, with the crushing weight of this household on her delicate shoulders. But your mother is so brave and bright that I didn’t realize what she has been doing.” “And of course I’ve been away,” sighed Barbara. “Well, _she_ must go away now,” said Dr. Grafton, with determination. “A complete rest and change she must have, as soon as possible. And Barbara, my girl, you’ll have to take the helm.” “Oh, I will,” she cried confidently. “I can and will gladly. I won’t let it crush _me_. I’ll reduce it all to a science.” “H’m,” said her father. “This science is not taught at Vassar. However, I don’t see what else we can do. And your mother must go at once.” Barbara lost her sense of the logical continuity of events during the next few days. Packing, planning, consoling small brothers, encouraging her mother, who was inclined to rebellion,—the minutes and hours flew. Before she realized, she stood one morning on the front porch with her arms around the sobbing Kid, resolutely forcing a smile, while she waved a cheerful farewell to the departing phaeton, containing a very pale mother and a very determined-looking father. “Good-by, mother dear!” called little David, winking away his tears. “Come back soon.” “Come back _well_!” added Barbara, cheerfully. CHAPTER IV THE PRACTICE