Kitty laughed, and said in her pert little way: “Getting up early don’t seem to agree with either of you this morning: I wonder what you’ve been doing?” “Your work. Suppose you bring in the kettle: Christie has hurt her hand.” David spoke quietly; but Kitty looked as much surprised as if he had boxed her ears, for he had never used that tone to her before. She meekly obeyed; and David added with a smile to Christie: “Mother is coming down, and you’ll have to get more color into your checks if you mean to hide your accident from her.” “That is easily done;” and Christie rubbed her pale cheeks till they rivalled Kitty’s in their bloom. “How well you women know how to conceal your wounds,” said David, half to himself. “It is an invaluable accomplishment for us sometimes: you forget that I have been an actress,” answered Christie, with a bitter sort of smile. “I wish I could forget what I have been!” muttered David, turning his back to her and kicking a log that had rolled out of place. In came Mrs. Sterling, and every one brightened up to meet her. Kitty was silent, and wore an injured air which nobody minded; Christie was very lively; and David did his best to help her through that last meal, which was a hard one to three out of the four. At noon a carriage came for Christie, and she said good-by, as she had drilled herself to say it, cheerfully and steadily. “It is only for a time, else I couldn’t let thee go, my dear,” said Mrs. Sterling, with a close embrace. “I shall see you at church, and Tuesday evenings, even if you don’t find time to come to us, so I shall not say good-by at all;” and David shook hands warmly, as he put her into the carriage. “I’ll invite you to my wedding when I make up my mind,” said Kitty, with feminine malice; for in her eyes Christie was an old maid who doubtless envied her her “lots of lovers.” “I hope you will be very happy. In the mean time try to save dear Mrs. Sterling all you can, and let her make you worthy a good husband,” was Christie’s answer to a speech she was too noble to resent by a sharp word, or even a contemptuous look. Then she drove away, smiling and waving her hand to the old lady at her window; but the last thing she saw as she left the well-beloved lane, was David going slowly up the path, with Kitty close beside him, talking busily. If she had heard the short dialogue between them, the sight would have been less bitter, for Kitty said: “She’s dreadful good; but I’m glad she’s gone: ain’t you?” “No.” “Had you rather have her here than me?” “Yes.” “Then why don’t you ask her to come back.” “I would if I could!” “I never did see any thing like it; every one is so queer and cross to-day I get snubbed all round. If folks ain’t good to me, I’ll go and marry Miles! I declare I will.” “You’d better,” and with that David left her frowning and pouting in the porch, and went to shovelling snow with unusual vigor. CHAPTER XIV. WHICH?. [Illustration: DAVID.]