"Is that a hint?" asked Ruth. "You needn't send me home, Mistress Barbara, because I was going anyway. I promised mother to get home early, so that she could go out. Will you come with me, Phyllis?"
"No; Babbie and I are going to sew longer," replied Phyllis.
"Babbie and you are going to do nothing of the sort. You must take your airing, and I shall rest; I am sure I have earned it," said Bab, decidedly.
Accordingly, Phyllis left the house with Ruth, but she was not in the mood for walking all the way home with her friend. She went but part way, then returned, and let herself in with her key half an hour later. The house was very still, and Phyllis, moving softly, saw that her aunt was asleep in her own room. Passing on down the narrow hall, she came to Bab's door, and stopped short at what she saw. There lay Barbara, flat on her face, which was buried in the pillow. Stifled moans came from the slender figure, which was shaking with sobs so violent that Phyllis's heart stood still with terror; the first thought that crossed her mind was that something awful had happened to Jessamy, or that her aunt was not sleeping, but had died, and Bab knew it.
"For heaven's sake, Bab, what is it; tell me," she whispered, laying her hand on the heaving shoulder.
Barbara started as though she had been shot. "You here?" she gasped. "Where did you come from?"
"What has happened? Is it Jessamy?" whispered Phyllis.
"Nothing has happened; do let me alone! I—I have a headache," said poor Bab.