hill where the milk-bottle had come to grief in the morning, past the
carpenter's shop, fast closed now, all but the scent of the wood, which
nothing could keep in.

It was a stiff pull to the top for tired people, but it was reached at
last. With a deep sigh of satisfaction they crossed the quiet street in
leisurely fashion to their own front door, where, summoning what energy
they had left, they gave a friendly "whoop!" to let their arrival be
known, and burst into the house pell-mell; then stopped abruptly, almost
tumbling over each other with the shock, and stared before them in
silent, speechless amazement at a pile of luggage which filled the
centre of the hall. Betty stepped back and looked at the plate on the
door to make quite sure that they had not burst into the wrong house;
but Kitty, with a swift presentiment, realized to whom that luggage
belonged and what it meant, and her heart sank down, down to a depth she
had never known it sink before.

Before she could speak, though, Emily appeared from somewhere, her face
a picture of rage, offended dignity, and fierce determination; but as
soon as she caught sight of the bewildered, wondering quartette, her
whole expression changed. She came to them, as Kitty said afterwards,
as though there had been a death in the family and she had to break the
news to them. But it was an arrival she had to announce, not a
departure, and she announced it abruptly.

"She's come!" she gasped in a whisper more penetrating than a shout; and
her face added, "You poor, poor things, I am sorry for you."

For once Emily's sympathies were with them, and even while staggering
under the blow they had just received, Kitty could not help noticing the