jolly things. Now I wonder--about a horse for her. She rides?"

"Perhaps you had better make no plans for Ann," she suddenly advised. "It
really would not surprise me at all if she went away to-morrow. There is
a great deal of uncertainty about the whole thing. In fact, Ann has had a
great deal of trouble."

"I'm sorry," he said with a simplicity she liked in him.

"Yes, a great deal of trouble. Last year both her father and mother died,
which was a great blow to her."

"Well, rather!"

"And now there are all sorts of business things to straighten out. It's
really very hard for Ann."

"Perhaps we can help her," he suggested.

"Perhaps we can," agreed Kate. Her eyes left him to wander across the
shadows down to the river again. But she came back to him to say, and
this with the oddest smile of all, "Wouldn't it be a queer sensation for
us? That thing of really 'helping' some one?"

She could not go to sleep that night. For a long time she sat in her room
in the same big chair in which Ann had sat that afternoon. Poor Ann, who
had sat there before she knew she was Ann, who was sleeping now without
knowing she was Ann. For Ann was indeed sleeping. From her door as Kate
carefully opened it had come the deep breathing as of an exhausted child.