"Had to run? I hope you were not abrupt, my child?"

"Oh, no, mamma, not at all. I said 'good-by' twice, and thanked her and
told her she had been very kind. That wasn't abrupt, was it? But oh,
that kitty's tail! I forget how many inches and a quarter longer than
any other kitty's tail in this state! And they are not cold-hearted,--I
mean cats,--I promised to tell you."

Here followed an account of the two cat-sisters, who loved each other
better than girl-sisters.

"And think of one of them dying of grief, the sweet thing! Human people
don't die of grief, do they, mamma?"

"Not often, Edith. Such instances have been known, but they are very
rare."

"Well," struck in wee Lucy, who had been listening to the touching
story, "well, I guess some folks would! Bab would die for grief of me,
and I would die for grief of Bab; we _said_ we would!"

She made this absurd little speech with tears in her eyes; but Kyzie
and Edith dared not laugh, for mamma's forefinger was raised. Mamma
never allowed them to ridicule the friendship of the two little girls,
who had made believe for more than a year that they were "aunt" and
"niece." The play might be rather foolish, but the love was very sweet
and true.

Lucy had been thinking all day of Barbara and longing for her arrival. A