"I do want to, mummy. I do! I do!"
"You think you do. Well, to realise that you are not so, is a step forward," and with a soft laugh Mrs. Carlyle put her arm around her little daughter, and drew her to her. "Dear, each of us has a hill to climb, and there has to be a first step; but if we do not quickly take another step forward, we are very apt to slip to the bottom again. If we want to reach the top we must keep on going."
"Mother, I shall bring you your glass of milk every day, and I shall try to bring it more nicely each time. Then, perhaps, I shall remember to take the next step. Now I must run away to look for Joan."
Once again Mrs. Carlyle drew her closer. "My good little Faith," she said softly, "Joan's little second mother. What would she or I have done, darling, without you to take care of us?" And her eyes were misty with tears as she lay back on her cushions.
Faith's eyes were dim, too, as she went softly on her way. "But second mothers have to be always setting good examples, just as real mothers have," she thought. And, by way of beginning, she set about making her bedroom as neat as a new pin.
CHAPTER XIII.
The last day for sending in the 'Plays' was July 31st. That was now but a fortnight off, and Audrey, in a state of feverish nervousness, had completed her last clean copy. She had worked hard each afternoon, and conscientiously, only to be filled at the last with despair and despondence. She had read, re-read, written and re-written it, until she knew every word by heart, and all seemed stale, dull, and trivial.
Irene, coming up to her room one afternoon, had found her with flushed cheeks and swelled eyelids, and despair plainly visible in every line of her face and form.
"It is no good," she groaned. "I shall not send it. I couldn't send anything so dull and foolish. They will only laugh."