The Fighting Shepherdess

For the second time within the week Kate went out in the street stunned by the blow which had been dealt her: She stood uncertainly for a moment on the edge of the sidewalk and then began slowly to untie the bridle reins.

"Here's a message that came for you yesterday; we had no way of getting it to you." The girl from the telephone office was regarding her curiously.

Kate turned at the sound of a voice beside her, and took the message which had been telephoned from the nearest telegraph office.

Have just learned of your trouble. Is there anything I can do for you? All sympathy.

HUGH She read it twice, carefully, while her eyes filled with tears of longing, then she accompanied the girl to the telephone office where she wrote her answer.

I need nothing. Thank you.

KATE PRENTICE In the meantime Mrs. Toomey was becoming acquainted with a new phase of her husband's character. She had thought she was familiar with all sides of it, those for which she loved him and those which taxed her patience and loyalty; but this moroseness, this brooding ugliness, was different.

He smoked continuously, ate little, drank more coffee than ever she had known him to, and at night twisted and turned restlessly. She could not account for it, since, so far as she knew, there was no more to trouble him than the usual worry as to where their next meals were coming from.

She surreptitiously studied his face wearing this new expression, and asked herself what would become of him with his violent temper, illogical reasoning and lack of balance, if it were not for the restraint of their association? Daily he became a stronger convert to the doctrine that the world owed every one--himself in particular--a living. It was one Mrs. Toomey did not hold with.

She was thankful now that she had not told him of Kate and her promise and aroused hopes that would only have meant further disappointment, in view of developments. She knew, of course, the current gossip to the effect that the Security State Bank was about to foreclose and "set Kate afoot," as the phrase was.

Mrs. Toomey was truly sorry. Her liking for Kate was more genuine than any feeling of the kind she had had for another woman in a longer time than she could remember. Because, perhaps, the girl was so strikingly her opposite in every particular, she admired Kate exceedingly. The freshness of her candid friendly face, her general wholesomeness attracted her. She felt also the latent strength of character beneath the ingenuous surface, and the girl's courage and self-reliance drew her in her own trembling uncertainty at this period, like a magnet.