"Besides," continued Kittie, as placidly as though nothing was disturbing the serenity of her sister, "you see, my dear, how it will help mama."
Any remark of a like character, would, at any time, reduce the girls from the most active rebellion to passive acquiescence; and Kat immediately lost her ferocious determination and looked reflective, as she recalled the dear face they loved, with its pale patient sweetness, and the gray hair that had all come into the brown locks within the last year, since Ernestine went away.
"Well," she said in a moment, and beginning to swing, "I suppose it's all right, but I wish he wasn't so old. Twenty! my goodness! He'll be forever lecturing us and reading solemn books, because I know he's solemn; sick people always are, and everything will have to be poky and still to suit him, and I think it's abominable!"
"Exactly," answered Kittie, with a nod of agreement. "But Kat, there's one splendid big thing to offset all those little horrid ones; why don't you think of that?"
"Well, I do, and I'm most tickled to death, that mama won't have to teach any more; poor, dear, blessed mama, she's most tired and worried to death;" and Kat's face grew very tender as she swung and thought over it all.
"Oh Kat!" cried Kittie, with a sudden vehemence, though the question that hung on her lips had been asked countless times in the past year, "Where do you suppose Ernestine is?"
Kat stopped the swing, and faced her sister with a sudden decision.
"I think," she said slowly, "Kittie, I think she's—dead!"
"Oh no! you don't surely! She can't be!" cried Kittie in terror; for no one had ever hazarded that cruel belief before. "Our Ernestine dead! I couldn't believe it, and I think it would kill mama, if she thought we would never find her again."
"But I can't help but feel so," said Kat sadly. "Just think of her getting into New York in the night, and not knowing anything where to go. I just know something dreadful happened, because we never can find one thing about her after she got there."