lonesomest one the Little Colonel had ever spent.

Her grandfather was asleep up-stairs. There was a cheery wood fire
crackling on the hearth of the big fireplace in the hall, but the great
house was so still. The corners were full of shadows.

She opened the front door with a wild longing to run away.

"Come, Fritz," she said, closing the door softly behind her, "let's go
down to the gate."

The air was cold. She shivered as they raced along under the bare
branches of the locusts. She leaned against the gate, peering out
through the bars. The road stretched white through the gathering
darkness in the direction of the little cottage.

"Oh, I want to go home so bad!" she sobbed. "I want to see my mothah."

She laid her hand irresolutely on the latch, pushed the gate ajar, and
then hesitated.

"No, I promised the doctah I'd stay," she thought. "He said I could help
mothah and Papa Jack, both of 'em, by stayin' heah, an' I'll do it."

Fritz, who had pushed himself through the partly opened gate to rustle
around among the dead leaves outside, came bounding back with something
in his mouth.

"Heah, suh!" she called. "Give it to me!" He dropped a small gray kid
glove in her outstretched hand. "Oh, it's mothah's!" she cried. "I