"Quite sure," she said, tears in her eyes again. "I'll tell you more by-and-by; but there is nothing to be done."
"Pattie was crying, 'way in her loom," declared Dot, who never failed to put her small finger into every pie that happened to be going.
"You mustn't let Pattie cry any more, Dot. It's bad for her. If she does, come and tell me."
"All wite," nodded Dot cheerfully.
Tea presently came to an end, and Pattie noted as an unusual event that Mrs. Cragg had not flown into a passion. But little time remained for that or for other observations, since she and Cragg had to dress at once for church. Mrs. Cragg seldom troubled herself to go in the evening.
Coming out of church an hour and a half later, Cragg said, as he walked beside Pattie in the twilight:
"What has been wrong to-day?"
"I can't tell you all, but—part, if you like. It is about my father's letters."
"Yes. What have you done?"
"I have burnt them. Not to-day, but two or three days ago."