Family Pride

And her face did bear a brighter look, when finally seated in the cars, than it had before since she left Silverton.

"You'll be home in April, and maybe Katy'll come, too," she whispered as she kissed Helen good-by and shook hands with Mattie Tubbs, thanking her for her kindness in seein' to an old woman, and charging her again never to let the folks in Silverton know that "Betsy Barlow had once been seen at a playhouse."

Slowly the cars moved away and Helen was driven home, leaving Mattie alone in her glory as she rolled down the Bowery, enjoying greatly the _éclat_ of her position, but feeling a little chagrined at not meeting a single acquaintance by whom to be envied and admired. Only Tom saw her alight, giving vent to a whistle, and asking if she didn't feel big, as he tried to hold out his pantaloons in imitation of her dress and walk as she disappeared through the door where the dry goods were swinging.

Katy did not ask where Helen had been, for she was wholly absorbed in Marian Hazelton's letter, telling how fast the baby improved, how pretty it was growing, and how fond both she and Mrs. Hubbell were of it, loving it almost as well as if it were their own.

"I know now it was best for it to go, but it was hard at first," Katy said, putting the letter away, and sighing wearily as she missed the clasp of the little arms and touch of the baby lips.

Several times Helen was tempted to tell her of Aunt Betsy's visit, but decided finally not to do so as it might distress her to know that strangers rendered the hospitalities it was her duty to give, and so Katy never guessed the truth, nor knew what it was which for many days made Wilford so nervous and uneasy, starting quickly at every sudden ring, going often to the window, and looking out into the street as if expecting some one who never came, while he grew strangely anxious for news from Silverton, asking when Katy had heard from home, and why she did not write. One there was, however, who knew and who enjoyed it vastly, watching Wilford closely, and guessing just how his anxiety grew as day after day went by; and she neither came nor was heard from in any way, for Helen did not show the letter apprising her of Aunt Betsy's safe arrival home, and so all in Wilford's mind was left a vague conjecture.

He had seen her, she had been in New York, as was proven by Bob Reynolds, but where was she now, and who were those people with her? Had they entrapped her into some snare, and possibly murdered her? It might be. Such things were not of rare occurrence, and Wilford actually grew poor with the uncertainty which hung over the fate of one whom in his present state of mind he would have warmly welcomed to his fireside, had there been a dozen dinner parties in progress. At last, as he sat one day in his office, with the same worried look on his face, Mark, who had also been watching him, said: "By the way, Will, how did that sheep pasture come out, or didn't the client appear?"