of their brother, but of the woman who 

 had kept them apart from their brother 

 in his trouble and sickness and death. 



Mariha was quiet and docile enough. 

 In fact she did what she was told with 

 a resignation most depressing. Aunt 

 Jenny took her to church and the sight 

 of her critical dark eyes roving over 

 minister and congregation spoiled the 

 sermon for Aunt Jenny. Aunt Mary 

 told her stories of her father intended 

 to be gently humorous. In the midst 

 of them Martha jumped up and ran off 

 into the garden. She cried there for 

 half an hour, but nobody ever knew, 

 and this business lost her the little hold 

 shehadhad on Aunt Mary'sheart. Aunt 

 Amy tried to amuse her and took her 

 to Sunday-school, and to the Band of 

 Hope. She gave her a doll and invited 

 the neighbor's children to come and 

 take tea. The doll was a source of se 

 cret amusement to Martha, but the vis 

 its of these pretty and proper children 

 were trials which she could scarcely 

 bear with patience. 



All the while, as the aunts half sus 

 pected, she was criticising everything 

 that came within the ken of her hungry 

 eyes. She found Aunt Jenny imper 

 ious, Aunt Mary dull, and knew that 

 Aunt Amy was thinking of her sweet 

 smile as she smiled. For Martha was 

 outside of it all, a mere spectator of 

 this life of peace and quiet and plenty, 

 and she secretly hungered after some 

 thing to care for something to take 

 the place of the little brothers and sis 

 ters who had always run to her to have 

 their faces washed and their aprons 

 buttoned. They expected her to play 

 'with dolls, she, Martha Clarke, who had 

 had real work to do and had learned to 

 push and crowd her own way. 



Months went by and the barrier was 

 unbroken. One evening the tea bell 

 rang again and again without bringing 

 any Martha. The aunts were in con 

 sternation. Had she run away or was 

 it a case of kidnaping? After nearly 

 an hour the suspense was ended by the 

 arrival of Martha. But such a Martha! 

 Her neat raiment was muddy and torn. 

 Her hair was in shocking disorder, 

 Her right hand, tied up in a handker 

 chief, was emphatically bloody, but in 

 spite of this, it was used to steady her 



bonnet, which she carried by the string, 

 basket-wise, in her left hand. 



Exclamations of horror and surprise 

 burst from the astonished women. 

 "Martha, where have you been? What 

 have you been doing? What is the 

 matter with your dress? Have you 

 hurt your hand? Why, it's bloody! 

 Has the child been righting? Martha, 

 are you going to answer?" 



Martha was actually embarrassed. 

 As she advanced into the lamplight 

 they saw that her cheeks were crimson 

 and her eyes sparkling, also that the 

 contents of her bonnet was a dilapi 

 dated kitten. When she did speak, her 

 voice was shriller than usual. 



"I fell down in the mud and my 

 hand is hurt," was her meager and hes 

 itating answer. 



"Where did the cat come from?" 



"It isn't a cat, it's a kitten, and it was 

 out in the yard, and I tried to catch it 

 and it ran away and a dog chased it. 

 When I came up, the dog was eating 

 the kitten, and I hit him and then he 

 bit me and pushed me down in the mud. 

 But I'm going to keep the kitten." 

 The last defiantly, then on second 

 thought, she added: 



"If you please. It's awfully hurt, 

 that kitten." 



In the silence that followed the shrill 

 child-voice the aunts looked at each 

 other and one thought was in the mind 

 of each. "She looks like Arthur." 



When Martha went to bed that night 

 the kitten, with its wounds all dressed, 

 was slumbering peacefully before the 

 kitchen fire. 



Time passed on happily for the kit 

 ten, which was not very much injured 

 after all, and full of new interest for 

 Martha, who plunged head and soul 

 into the education of the kitten. 

 Toward her aunts her feeling was un 

 changed. She drew a line between 

 them and the kitten. 



One evening Aunt Jenny and Aunt 

 Amy had gone to prayer-meeting. 

 Aunt Mary was not well and she sat 

 bolstered up in a rocking-chair, knit 

 ting, before the bright fire in the sitting- 

 room grate. Martha sat beside her, 

 also knitting, in theory, but in practice 

 carrying on a flirtation with the kitten, 

 which was now a very gay kitten, in- 



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