"Kitty! Little Kitty!" says she. "Come back to mother at last!"
"O mother, I don't want ever to leave you again," I sobbed.
"Poor little Kitty!" says she, and she crooned over me afresh.
I don't know how long that went on; only after a while I heard Mary say behind, softly, "Now we ought to go home."
So tears had to stop, for choosing of footsteps, and I don't know to this day how we got over the rough ground back to the road. Mother wouldn't let go of me for a moment, and Mary guided us both. The moon went behind a cloud soon, but it didn't matter, for by that time we had gas-lamps.
All through the longish way back mother clung to me fast, like one who has found a lost treasure. I was that tired at last, I scarce knew how to drag one foot after the other; only I could not complain, I was so happy. And now and then Mary whispered, "Cheer up, Kitty; we'll soon be there! And it's been worth while," says she. And oh, hadn't it been?
Mother didn't talk nor ask any questions. She kept on, in a sort of murmur to herself— "Kitty! little Kitty! my Kitty!" —and that was all.
When we got indoors, Mary lighted a second candle, to brighten up the room. Mother stood holding me fast still, not willing to let go.
"Hadn't Kitty better sit down, Mrs. Phrynne?" says Mary. "She's been on her feet such a time."
"Kitty yes," mother said. "Kitty's tired! Poor little Kitty!"