But no letter came the next day, nor the next, nor all the following
week, although she went to the post-office several times daily.

It grew dull waiting, with Miss Barbara gone so much, and with nothing
to do. She read the few books at her disposal, she paced up and down in
the two little back bedrooms that she and Miss Barbara occupied. She
took long walks alone, but the little mining town was even smaller than
Westbrooke, and she found scant material with which to fill her letters
home.

The two weeks for which she had been invited came to an end, and Judith
grew desperate over her fruitless trips to the post-office. She knew
that Miss Barbara had just made the payment that was due the Building
and Loan Association in which she was putting her little earnings, and
would be almost penniless until the end of another term. Besides, she
had accepted all that she was willing to take from the hard-worked
little music teacher.

"I have packed my trunk and am going home to-morrow, Cousin Barbara,"
she announced. "Mr. Avery's family have evidently stayed longer than
Daisy expected, and she can't have me. Maybe some of them are ill."

"Then she should have written and told you so," said Miss Barbara,
waxing so indignant over the neglect of her _protégée_ that she grew
eloquent on the subject of her hobby--punctuality, especially in
correspondence.

"I suppose you wouldn't want to write again?" she suggested.