mother died; the orderly comfort, the cheerfulness and joy which seemed
always to be a part of the house in those days; and her eyes grew misty
with the ache and loneliness of her heart, and the sense of failure
which weighed her down. There rose before her that dear, happy face,
with the bright smile and the ready interest that had never failed her.

"O mother, mother," she cried, "I want you so, I want you so!
Everything is wrong, and I can't get them right. I am no use to any
one, and I--I don't know how to do better."

The hot tears were brimming up and just about to fall over, when flying
footsteps sounded on the stairs--Betty's footsteps. Kitty closed the
door of her room, though she knew it was of no use. It was Betty's room
too, and nothing, certainly not a mere hint, could keep Betty out; and
she sighed, as she had often sighed before, for a room of her very own,
for some place where she could be alone sometimes to think, or read, or
make plans, or hide when the old heartache became too much for her.

But Betty shared her room, and Betty had every right to walk in, and
Betty did so. She was quiet, and vouchsafed no account of her doings,
but she was quite calm and unperturbed.

"What has made Emily in such a bad temper?" asked Kitty wearily.

"Emily always is in a bad temper, isn't she?" asked Betty placidly.
"I don't take any notice of her." Then with some slight interest,
"What did she say to you?"

"She didn't _say_ anything," answered Kitty, "but she looked temper, and
walked temper, and breathed temper. Have you got a nice supper for us?