"Does mother know you've come?" she asked.
"I think she's been told," I said.
"Yes," —and she stopped. "Mother is busy," —and she stopped again. "Mother will like me to take care of you. Poor Kitty Phrynne!" says she, such a soft look in her eyes. "Poor Kitty Phrynne! I'm Kathleen Withers."
She took hold of my hand, and made me come towards the staircase.
"Miss Kathleen!" says the maid, turning up again. "I was trying to find you. Mistress is busy for a few minutes, and she says will you please look after the young person till she can come."
"Yes; of course. It's all right," says the child. "I'm going to take Kitty Phrynne to her bedroom. And I want her to have some tea, please, as quick as possible." Then I heard another sigh. "Poor Kitty Phrynne!" whispered the child.
Wasn't it strange how that comforted me, and took away the lonesome feeling?
[CHAPTER XI.]
IN CHURCH.
THAT little Miss Kathleen Withers was the very sweetest child!