window-sill. Whoever the intruder was, he was working with great care, and wholly unconscious of any one's approach, for when Mrs. Dering reached the corner and peeped around, the intruding head was just leveled, and coming through, carefully followed by a nimble body, but not clothed in the habiliments usually donned by burglars; instead, there appeared a blue calico much drenched and ornamented with wet weeds, an apron wholly unrecognizable as to color or design, and a drabbled hat hanging to the intruder's neck. As this queer apparition landed on the floor, Mrs. Bering stepped around the corner, whereupon the bold burglar jumped and screamed faintly, and the lady laughed, though she said with grave inquiry:

"Why Kathleen! What does this mean?"

"Oh, mama!" gasped the burglar, with a despairing glance at her dripping self. "I didn't want you to see me."

"Nor any one else, from the way you came in I should think. What is the matter?"

Kat grasped her wet hat, and looked desperately sorry and resigned all at once.

"Why, I went out in the boat," she said, twisting the wet ribbons around her fingers and dropping her eyes to the floor, with a little flush of shame, "and it upset, and I had to wade in, but I couldn't get it, and it's sailing upside down, way out in the pond. I don't know whatever you'd better do to me, I'm sure."

"Disobeyed papa. O Kathleen!"

"Well I didn't mean—," there Kat stopped, and swallowed several times very hastily; she would rather have been shaken, than to have heard that grieved tone. "I was only going to ride a little ways, but the wind blew me out; I know it was wrong, though, cause pap said, not to touch it."

"Go to your room and get off your wet clothes as quickly as possible, and after supper I will come and talk to you about it," said Mrs. Dering, turning away to hide the smile, that poor, dripping, shame-faced Kat could not but provoke.

The announcement that "Water-Rat" was face down out in the pond, caused dire dismay at the supper-table, so that when the meal was finished, and Mrs. Dering went up to talk to repentant Kat, the rest of the family all hurried down to the pond to view the disaster. There was the gayly painted boat, floating idly back and forth with the wind, out in the pond, and the girls expressed their great dismay in a dismal chorus of "Oh's," long prolonged, as it floated farther away. "Never mind," said papa Dering, briskly. "We'll get her all safe again, a little bath won't hurt her. Here Kittie, you're the best runner, go to the house and bring me the largest hammer and longest nails in the tool-chest. Be quick now." Kittie was off like a flash, and when she came back, there were three or four logs lying ready for use, with some planks and a long pole, and Mr. Bering with coat off, fell to work with a will and such speed, that in ten minutes, a small raft lay in the water, and Mr. Dering was making preparations for his voyage, by pulling off his boots and tucking his pants up.

"You don't suppose you could get drowned, do you papa," questioned Jean, somewhat overcome with these unusual proceedings, and clinging to her seat in a low willow with some trepidation.

"Not much, little one. I guess if Katty can wade out of this water, papa can, providing he's tipped in. Now good-bye, girls. Wish me well."

Kittie in the willow, and Bea and Ernestine on a log, gave three parting cheers with such force, that Kat, crying forlornly up in her room, ran to the window to see the fun, and watched with great interest the rescue of the "Water Rat," which Mr. Dering effected with great skill and many flourishes, to the delight of his audience. After being pulled out on the grass, face up again to dry, the rescued "Rat" was left to the twilight, while the party returned to the house.

The new arrangements had been in hand about a week, and so far, the girls were delighted and enthusiastic over "helping," though they did miss "Prince" and the buggy very much. As Mrs. Dering had said, papa decidedly objected to any such arrangements and privations, but one man against seven determined women!—oh, my! just think of it! So they had their way, and it was such a comfort to see, that already he began to look a little less worried and anxious when out of the store.

That night, when the girls went to bed, Kat was very much subdued, and kept her face quite persistently out of sight. Kittie administered comfort in broken and complete doses, but without much effect, for just now, when under the new enthusiasm, every one was doing her best in all ways, Kat felt her disgrace, more deeply than was customary for her, who fell into it, and out again pretty nearly every day, and so she refused to be comforted. Perhaps there was another reason for the complete and deep contrition. At any rate, she whispered to Kittie with a choke, that fought against being a sob,—before they went to sleep; "Oh, Kittie!—I can't go—go, nutting!"

Sure enough. Kat ate her breakfast with red eyes and a poor appetite the next morning, while the sun shone, as it surely never did before, and Kittie gayly laughed and chatted, but trying to be not too happy, as was consistent with the deep sympathy felt and expressed for suffering Kat, who had vanished beyond the power of sight or search, when at eight o'clock, a merry party halted at the gate, and the home girls, gayly escorted Kittie and her baskets down the walk.

That was a dismal morning to be sure. Kat did her portion of the work before any of the other girls came up stairs, and no one saw her again that morning, for with a volume of history, "St. Elmo," and six apples, she departed for the back roof, where she sat down and cried as hard as ever she could for five minutes, then opened the history, and took a fierce bite out of the biggest apple.

"There, I won't cry another tear, it's a blessing that I wasn't shut up for the day, instead of being allowed to roam around, when I can't let things alone that I'm told to. I'm going to learn a chapter of this history, now, before I read a word of 'St. Elmo,' though I don't see the use. Whatever do I care about the Edwards' and Henrys' and all that!" And then Kat shook herself, opened her book, and valiantly attacked Henry the Fifth, with every possible intention of doing just exactly what she said; but in about ten minutes a little puff of wind sailed across the roof, tossed open the cover of 'St. Elmo,' fluttered the leaves, then flew away, leaving them open, just where Edna goes to the old church for the last time, and Kat's eyes strayed right down to the tempting words, and somehow they did not come back at once.

That old roof was just like all the rest of the house, roomy, shady and cool. The flourishing top of a huge apple-tree reached over one side of it, with tempting seats in its boughs, and on another side, was the wide roomy window, with its worn sill, that led into the garret of the main part of the house. Solid comfort had it always been to the girls, and sometimes on warm Sunday afternoons, all the family might be found, distributed over its flat, roomy surface, with old comforts and pillows, and a good supply of books and fans.

Crash! went something suddenly and away sailed "St. Elmo," to bump his villainously fascinating head against the chimney, while Kat jerked her history open again and heard the profoundest and most melancholy sigh.

"What's the use! 'Henry the Fifth was born,'—I wonder who cares, dear me, I wish Kittie was here! 'Was born on'"—But, as if in answer to that wish so heartily uttered, there came two arms around her neck, and there was Kittie, laughing gayly as she nodded her head.

"I just wonder if you thought I would