St. Peter had come in late from an afternoon lecture, and had just lighted his kerosene lamp to go to work, when he heard a light foot ascending the stairs. In a moment Kathleen’s voice called: “May I interrupt for a moment, Papa?”
He opened the door and drew her in.
“Kitty, do you remember the time you sat out there with your bee-sting and your bottle? Nobody ever showed me more consideration than that, not even your mother.”
Kathleen threw her hat and jacket into the sewing-chair and walked about, touching things to see how dusty they were. “I’ve been wondering if you didn’t need me to come in and clean house for you, but it’s not so bad as they report it. This is the first time I’ve called on you since you’ve been here alone. I’ve turned in from the walk more than once, but I’ve always run away again.” She paused to warm her hands at the little stove. “I’m silly, you know; such queer things make me blue. And you still have Augusta’s old forms. I don’t think anything ever happened to her that amused her so much. And now, you know, she’s quite sentimental about their being here. It’s about Augusta that I came, Papa. Did you know that she had lost some of her savings in the Kinkoo Copper Company?”
“Augusta? Are you sure? What a shame!”
“Yes. She was sewing for me last week. I noticed that she seemed depressed and hadn’t much appetite for lunch—which, you know, is unusual for Augusta. She was ashamed to tell any of us about it, because it seems she’d asked Louie’s advice, and he told her not to invest in that company. But a lot of the people in her church were putting money into