"Oh, thank you, Miss Pomeroy!" cried the girl in genuine gladness. "Mamma will let me stay, I know she will!" And as the second summons for the evening meal pealed through the building, she danced happily away to her place in the dining-room.

Hardly was the chapel service over when Carrie and Grace appeared at the door of the principal's domain, and the flaxen-haired girl began hesitatingly, "Miss Pomeroy, do you let girls stay here at school during the holidays if they can go somewhere else just as well as not?"

"Yes, my dear. Any of the girls are welcome to stay, though it is seldom one chooses to do so if she can possibly go home."

"Then may we stay? I had expected to go home, and then when Mamma wrote that they wouldn't be in Silver Bow themselves, I expected to go with Grace; but Tabitha can't and I don't want to leave her here alone."

"And if neither one of them will spend the vacation with me, I would rather stay here, too," said Grace. "I can telegraph to see if mamma will let me, but I know she will say yes."

"Bertha and Chrystobel expect to be here, you know," suggested Miss Pomeroy, watching to see what effect these words would have on the two supplicants.

"Chrystobel, too?" they cried in unison.

"Yes, she has just sent a telegram to her family."

"Then what a nice time we can give Tabitha!" exclaimed Carrie.

"She is always doing something for us," added Grace, "and it will be lovely to get even with her that way."

"Then you still wish to remain here for Christmas?"

"Yes, indeed," they answered, "if we may."

"I shall be glad to have so many of my girlies with me during the holidays, and I am sure Tabitha and Bertha will appreciate every effort you make to give them a happy time. Good-night, dears."

They scurried gleefully away, much delighted with the principal's decision, and already planning what they might do to fill the vacation days for Tabitha. As they pranced up the stairway, they met roguish Vera Foss hurrying toward the lower floor, and in answer to Carrie's laughing demand, "Where are you going, my pretty maid?" she said seriously, "To ask Miss Pomeroy's permission to stay here over Christmas."

"Why?" cried the amazed conspirators in one breath.

"Oh, I just got to thinking how badly I would feel if I had to stay here for the holidays like Kitty and Bertha must, when everyone else is going home to parties and tournaments and gay times generally, and I thought it would be lots more fun for them if there were others here to keep them company. So when Aunt Lyda came for me, I asked her about it and she said I might stay if Miss Pomeroy would let me."

"Goody! She will. She said we might. When your aunt goes, come up to Grace's room and let's make our plans right away. We will get Chrystobel if she isn't with Puss."

The next morning when the bevy of bright-faced, light-hearted girls came to wish their teachers and two lone mates a merry Christmas before scattering for the holiday season, the four plotters, Chrystobel, Carrie, Grace and Vera, were foremost in the ranks, laughing and chattering the gayest of them all, as they jerked on coats and strapped up suitcases ready for departure.

"Here comes the bus," called someone. "Grace, Carrie, where are you?"

"Where are the Monrovia girls? Oh, Vera, you are wanted."

"Chrystie, your turn next. Is this your grip? Good-by all! Merry Christmas!"

With a few final, hasty hugs, the quartette sprang down the steps, climbed into the waiting vehicles, and departed—to all appearances—amid a great waving of handkerchiefs and pennants.

At length the last good-by had been spoken, the last merry girl was gone, four of the teachers, too, had deserted their posts for holiday fun, and as the chug-chug of the last machine died away in the distance, Miss Pomeroy dropped her arms over the shoulders of the two drooping figures on the steps, and said cheerily, "And is this all I have left of my big flock? Well, we are going to have some joyous celebrating this year, I can promise you; but no doubt you have some Christmas work you would like to complete this morning, so I will not detain you now to discuss our plans. Run up to your rooms if you wish; we can do our talking at luncheon."

Bertha and Tabitha tried to smile bravely, but the tears were too near to permit of words, and in silence the lonely duet climbed the wide stairway to their floor, each intending to have a private little weep all by herself. But,

"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley."

There was a wild rush of feet in the hallway overhead, and a shower of light parcels filled the air, pelting the sober figures from right and left, as a chorus of merry voices screamed joyously, "Merry, merry Christmas!"

"You thought we had gone home, didn't you?"

"But we haven't and we aren't going to! Miss Pomeroy said we might stay."

"And the other girls left those packages for jokes. The real presents are all in the principal's office."

"Oh, girls!" gasped Tabitha, with eyes shining like diamonds.

"Oh, girls!" echoed Bertha, her face wreathed in her own sunny smile again.



CHAPTER XVIII

TABITHA'S CHRISTMAS

Christmas Day dawned bright and clear and with the first peep of dawn Tabitha was out of bed, shaking Chrystobel vigorously and calling, "Merry Christmas, lazybones! Wake up; it's day! The rising bell has rung. Didn't you hear it?"

"Oh, you are dreaming," drowsily murmured the weary girl in the other bed. "This is vacation time."

"But we have to get up just the same," laughed Tabitha. "I am going to wake Carrie and the others."

She bounced across the room, flung open the door and stopped abruptly, for suspended to the transom above her head hung two immense tarlatan stockings, stuffed to the very brim with bundles of all sorts and sizes. Across the hall from Carrie's transom swung two more similar socks, and dangling against Bertha's door was a third set.

Tabitha's wild shriek of surprise and delight brought the other five girls standing in their beds, and Carrie chattered anxiously, "Oh, what is the matter? Is the building on fire?"

"No, indeed. Merry Christmas!" shouted the black-eyed girl, tugging at the stocking marked with her name. "Open the door and see what you find. Santa Claus surely has been here while we slept."

There was the sound of pattering feet in the three rooms, and Chrystobel, now thoroughly awake, reached Tabitha's side just as the door across the hall and the one next to theirs burst open and four excited girls tumbled out. "Oh-h-h!" came a chorus of long-drawn-out, rapturous sighs, as five pair of eager arms clasped the bulky socks and jerked them loose.

"Ow!" shrieked Grace. "There is something awfully hard in mine. It nearly knocked a hole in my head. It's a handkerchief box, as sure as I am alive! Isn't it a dear? That is from Esther. Well, Kitty, what are you doing down there?"

Tabitha, in nightgown and slippers, sat in the middle of the floor, her huge stocking up-side down in her lap, and gifts scattered all about her, as with shining eyes and trembling hands she unwrapped each package in turn and gloated over its contents.

"A bunch of violets from Miss Pomeroy—she never forgets one of us. There is Bertha's scarf that Cassandra tattled about—thank you, Bertha! You must have worked like a Trojan on that. I never could embroider silk. Here is a lovely handkerchief from Edith, a book from June, a calendar from Estelle, a—a silk waist from Carrie! You darling! Look at this lovely photo of Jessie and Julia, and isn't the frame cute! A book of poems from Cassandra—she said her gift ought to make me the happiest of all because it would give me something new to recite—queer little, dear little midget! A set of Shakespeare from the Leonard twins, a bonbon dish from Vera. Here is a kiss in return. An apron from Grace, three ties, a pair of gloves, chocolates, handkerchiefs,—oh, did ever anyone see so many pretty things belonging to one person! I am perfectly crazy with happiness. Here is one weenty package more in the very tiptoe of my stocking—from Chrystobel—a ring with a real ruby in it. If there were another thing to open, I should be bawling in earnest. That is the first ring I ever owned, girls—"

"Oh, there goes the first bell for breakfast," interrupted Bertha, whisking up her stocking full of packages. "Ten minutes to dress in! Run, scuttle, hustle! We mustn't be late

'On Christmas morn, on Christmas morn'."

She vanished abruptly, humming the beautiful carol; and three of her companions, following her example, swept up their numerous packages and flew away to dress.

Oh, that was a merry Christmas indeed for Tabitha! So bewildered, so delighted, so happy was she, that teachers and scholars were kept in a perfect gale of laughter during the breakfast hour, for the spirit of the day was upon her, the love of her new friends, manifested even in this material way, had touched her more deeply than anyone could guess, and the effervescent gladness in her heart had to bubble over. So they lingered long over the breakfast table, loath to bring to a close such a happy hour; but at length Miss Pomeroy rose, and smiling down into the expectant fares of her six holiday charges, she said,

"I think the first thing on our morning's program is a long walk, say to the park, and back. It is such a glorious day we mustn't waste a moment of it, and we have all laughed so much we certainly need some exercise. Miss Summers looks positively worn out with mirth. By the time we get back, the postman and expressman may have visited us again, and I am sure the minutes will pass more quickly for each of us impatient children if we are busy doing something. My box from home isn't here yet, and I am as eager as you are to see what my nieces and nephews have sent me."

"A walk is just what I need to work off my surplus energy," declared Tabitha enthusiastically. "May we take some crackers to feed the swans?"

"And oh, may I take my kodak, my spandy new Christmas kodak, for some pictures?" asked Grace eagerly. "I will snap you the very first one if you will say yes."

"That is quite an inducement," laughed Miss Pomeroy. "Of course you may take all the crackers you wish and as many kodaks as you possess."

So thus armed, a merry eight left Ivy Hall a few moments later and tramped gayly away to the park.

Upon their return, as the principal had predicted, they found the reception hall table loaded down with letters and parcels from the mail, while several express packages lay piled in a heap on the floor.

"Oh, Miss Pomeroy," shouted Carrie, reaching the bundles first and eagerly scanning the addresses. "Here is yours all right, and it is heavy as lead. This one is addressed to Grace; here is mine from Grandma; that is for Bertha; the big box is Pussy's, and so is this little fellow, and the other box is addressed to you and me together from papa. Here's a heap of letters. You can distribute them, Vera; I am too excited. Where is the hammer?"

"Not so fast, not so fast!" laughed Miss Pomeroy. "John will open these boxes and carry them up to your rooms where you can unpack them all by yourselves. Take your mail and scamper!" She shooed the capering girls up the wide stairway, where they were followed very shortly by the smiling John, bearing their new cargo of gifts.

"Oh, John, hurry, hurry!" coaxed Carrie, skipping about in a fever of impatience. "I can't wait. Who is yours from, Puss? Tom?"

"No; it isn't his writing, anyway. There is a little package from him and a letter—but—the big box is—from Reno, too."

"Why don't you open it and see who sent it?" asked Chrystobel, busy herself with a big home box.

"I will as soon as I investigate the things Mrs. Vane sent me. Aren't they pretty? A glove box with two pair of gloves in it. The hair-ribbons are from Mrs. McKittrick; but this package, I can't make out where it came from, either. It's a kodak! Grace, a kodak like yours!"

"You will need a detective," said Grace, dropping her own treasures to examine the mysterious packages of her companion. "What does the tag say?"

"Just, 'A brand from the burning'. Isn't that queer?"

Carrie paused in her excited unpacking of goodies from home, studied the little card for a moment and then said, "What will you bet that isn't from the hermit?"

"Why didn't I think of that before?" murmured Tabitha, dropping back on the floor, suddenly lost in thought.

"Well, Kitty, if you aren't the craziest!" exclaimed Vera at length. "Here you sit mooning over that camera when you haven't opened your brother's packages, or that big box I am dying to see, or even looked at the things Carrie has dumped into your lap from her folks."

Tabitha roused with a start and immediately tore off the coverings of the second mysterious box, saying with a smile, "I am keeping the best for dessert. I like to guess at what is inside each parcel before I open it. Oh, what a pretty hat!"

"Isn't it a darling! And look at that pretty dress goods! That is all the rage now."

"Chrystie, see Kitty's new shoes. Aren't they fine?"

"A whole outfit," murmured Grace, half enviously.

"Yes, and here is an envelope, Puss," added Carrie. "That ought to tell who sent it."

Tabitha mechanically broke the seal of the envelope bearing her name in the same writing as that on the outside of the box, and a twenty dollar bill dropped into her lap. "That is all there is in it," she said, shaking the paper again. "No, it isn't. Here is a little scrap which reads, 'For dressmaker's bills'. Now isn't that provoking!"

"Provoking!" echoed Chrystobel. "I should call it luck!"

"Oh, I didn't mean the money and things. Those are splendid. But isn't it a shame not to know where they came from?"

"Why, didn't your brother send them?" asked Bertha in surprise, for she had been so deeply engrossed with her own gifts that only snatches of her companions' conversation had reached her.

"No, that isn't a bit like his writing, you see; and besides, he couldn't afford such things."

"Maybe Tom's letter tells," Carrie ventured. "Why don't you read it and see?"

"I had forgotten," laughed Tabitha, looking foolish, and hastily tearing open the letter in her lap. Then the rosy color in her cheeks paled, her eyes grew big with amazement, and her breath came in quick gasps. "Dad sent them," was all she said, and as if doubting the truth of her own statement, she read again the last paragraph of the busy brother's brief note:

"This is a poor apology for a letter, Puss, but if I get it off in this next mail I haven't time for anything lengthy. I suppose by this time you have received the book I mailed you yesterday, and I hope the big surprise arrives in season to help you enjoy Christmas Day. What do you think! Dad stopped at Reno on his way back from another trip East, and he called on me to go shopping with him this morning. He himself selected the dress, but deferred to my notions in regard to the other frills, so if they don't suit, blame me. I noticed that most of the girls in Reno were wearing those fuzzy hats, so at my suggestion Dad got one to match your dress. I thought you would prefer a brown suit, but he wanted blue, and blue it is. I showed him around town and took him through the college buildings, and when he was gone I found fifty dollars in greenbacks on my dresser—my Christmas gift from him."

Tabitha slowly folded the paper, dropped it down into the box with its precious gifts, and lifting her shining eyes to the faces of her curious mates, she whispered softly, "I think I am perfectly happy!"

"And so are we," cried Chrystobel impulsively. "This has been the loveliest Christmas vacation I can remember. I wouldn't have missed staying here for anything."

"Nor I!" echoed Grace and Vera in the same breath, while Carrie and Bertha smiled their happiness.

Then came the grand dinner, and after that the games. They danced, they sang, they played everything they could think of, they messed in the kitchen, bribing the cook to surrender her domains to them for a candy pull, they inveigled the stately principal and shy Miss Summers into their romps, and how they did enjoy every minute of the gala day! But like all other days, it came to an end at last, and as the laughing group of weary merrymakers climbed the wide stairway at the bedtime hour, Carrie, who had lingered a moment behind the others in the hall below, bounded up the steps, calling excitedly, "Oh, girls, Miss Pomeroy says we don't have to sleep in our own rooms tonight, but can pair off any way we want to, and sleep wherever we choose. Isn't that great fun? Whom will you take, Puss?"

Tabitha stopped abruptly on the stairs. "Oh, I can have Carrie all to myself tonight," she thought to herself, but as she opened her lips to speak, she saw Chrystobel's eyes fixed wistfully upon her own, and suddenly there rose before her a vision of her room-mate's self-sacrifice in electing to spend the holidays at school when she knew what pleasures would have been hers at her own beautiful home. She hesitated, looked at Carrie's eager face, read the longing in Bertha's eyes, saw its reflection in Grace and Vera, and answered, "I choose all of you. What are you going to do about it?"

"Draw lots, you dear little Christmas queen!" cried Bertha promptly. "You are the most popular girl in school, Kitty Catt. Just see how we fight over you! Here are some slips of paper from our guessing game. Take your turn. The two longest, the two middle and the two shortest are mates."

There on the stairs they drew their fate—Tabitha and Chrystobel, Grace and Bertha, Carrie and Vera. Then with a merry laugh over the result, they linked arms and marched up to bed, with one exception a little disappointed, perhaps, but happy nevertheless.

The lights went out, five pair of sleepy eyes closed in slumber, the great city grew still, but Tabitha lay awake in her narrow bed looking up into the star-lit sky with bright, sparkling, happy eyes which held no trace of sorrow or longing, as she whispered reverently:

"O little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie! Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent hours go by."

She thought of all the joys the day had brought her, such unexpected pleasures that it seemed as if her heart would burst with gladness; she thought of the girls who had done so much to give her this beautiful holiday; she thought of the scene on the stairs, and of Bertha's words, which, without a particle of conceit, she felt were the truth; she thought of Tom away at college, and wondered if his holiday had been as delightful as hers; she thought of the friends at Silver Bow, of Aunt Maria in the East, of the stern father keeping lonely vigil on the desert, and here her thoughts lingered. Had he received the calendar she sent him, and was he glad? What had prompted him to buy her the lovely gifts the express box had contained? Was he, after all, growing to be like jolly Mr. Carson? His remembrance had been the crowning touch of the day. How could she ever thank him? An idea suddenly popped into her mind as if in answer to her question, but she frowned at it, shook her head, protested that she could never do such a thing, and then—she did it.

Creeping carefully, noiselessly out of bed, she threw a kimono over her nightgown, turned on the electric light, drew out writing materials and began her first letter to the father whom she did not know or understand.

"Dear Father," she wrote, "I take my pen in hand to try to express in a feeble measure my deep and sincere gratitude for the many beautiful gifts you have sent me—

"Oh, rats!" The pen stopped its deliberate movements, the paper was roughly crumpled and flung into the waste basket. "That would make him sick with disgust. What in the world shall I say?

"Dear Father,—The Christmas box arrived this morning and its contents are greatly appreciated, I can assure you. How am I ever to thank you enough!—

"Certainly not by such a stilted scribble as that. Sounds as if I might be addressing the president of the Associated Charities. Oh, dear, it is such a piece of work to write to one's father! Carrie never has half the fuss; but then I don't suppose I would either if Dad was like Mr. Carson—or Tom. That's it. I will just pretend I am writing to Tom; I can say anything to him. Here goes!

"Dear Dad,—The things arrived this morning, and they are—

"Shall I say 'bully'? Tom would, but that is a boy's word, and it is slang besides. Miss Pomeroy says a lady doesn't use slang. I will use 'great'. No, that isn't much better. Well, 'splendid' will do."

The busy pen went on scratching until the page was filled, then a second, a third, and still she had not finished. The clock struck midnight, then one; and with a flourish, Tabitha wrote at the bottom of the tenth closely scribbled page, "With love, Tabitha," sighed with weary satisfaction, folded the sheets neatly, and slipped them into an envelope just as Chrystobel's eyes opened and the surprised girl inquired sleepily, "Whatever are you doing, Kitty, up at this time of night?"

"Writing a letter."

"Couldn't you wait until morning?"

"No, dear, I have waited too long already," answered Tabitha, turning out the light and scrambling back into bed. "I had to tell him how good everyone is to me, and how good he is, too."



CHAPTER XIX

A STRIKE!

The weeks vanished all too quickly to suit the black-eyed maid from the desert, and she often found herself wondering where the time went to, for before she realized it, winter had slipped away and spring was nearly gone. Now May was half over, and in another month school would be closed for the summer. Carrie was to spend her vacation on the Oregon farm with her grandmother, and Tabitha must return to the desert alone. She sat swinging idly under the pepper trees, her Latin grammar on her knees, but with eyes staring off across the smooth lawn and beautiful shrubbery, thinking mournfully of the long, hot weeks on the burning desert before September would come again.

"I have hardly had a chance to say a word to Carrie all this year, and now after counting on three months alone with her in Silver Bow, she is going away for her vacation. That is always the way things happen with me. Some people have everything and others nothing." Half unconsciously she began to hum the tune Mrs. Vane had composed for The Discontented Buttercup; then realizing what she was singing, she laughed.

"Now aren't you ashamed of yourself, Tabitha Catt?" she exclaimed aloud. "When you have the chance to go to boarding school and get an education, and make so many beautiful friendships and have everything so perfectly lovely, here you are envying Carrie because she is going to her grandmother's for vacation. She isn't well, and it wouldn't be good for her to go back to the desert for the hot summer months. Besides, you promised to be good and not to envy people any more. You are a discontented buttercup.

'Look bravely up into the sky, And be content with knowing That God wished for a buttercup Just here, where you are growing.'"

"What's that about a buttercup?" asked a merry voice behind her, so unexpectedly that Tabitha nearly fell out of the hammock. So intent had she been upon her own thoughts that she had not heard the tiptoeing footsteps on the soft grass, and was startled when Carrie plumped down beside her, and three or four other girls ranged themselves in comfortable positions in the fresh clover at their feet.

"How you frightened me!" cried the absorbed songstress, moving over to give Carrie more room. "Where have you been? You weren't in your rooms when I came down, so I slipped out here to study."

"About buttercups?" teased Bertha, tickling her throat with a long grass. "If you had gone up to the third floor you would have found us all in Hattie's room, admiring the watch she just got for her birthday. Have you seen it?"

"No, I was just finishing a letter when she called us, and by the time I was ready to go, you had all disappeared. I forgot she had changed her room."

"Oh," cried Carrie abruptly, "here is a letter for you! We stopped at your room as we came down and you weren't in, so I brought it along. I got one from papa, too, and what do you think? There has been a strike on the Tom Cat!"

A burst of laughter from the girls on the grass greeted this remark, and even Tabitha joined in, though the unusual piece of news made her heart beat fast and her eyes glow with an eagerness she could not suppress.

"When—how big—" she began, but Cassandra interrupted with the puzzled question, "What did they strike the tomcat for and who did it?"

"The Tom Cat is the name of a claim Kitty's father owns, and when there is a strike on a mining claim, it means that gold or silver has been found," explained Carrie patiently. "Silver Bow is a silver mining camp, but the Cat Group is about thirty miles from there and it has gold on it. Papa says the vein they have uncovered is very rich and promises to be a big one. They have offered your father a fortune for just that one claim, but he won't sell. He will be a rich man now, Puss. Aren't you glad?"

Tabitha sat in a daze, hardly daring to believe her ears. Could it be after all these years her father was to find wealth again, or was it all a dream?

"Well, you are the queerest girl!" declared Chrystobel, who was watching her curiously. "If anyone had told me my father had found a gold mine, I should jump up and down and shout, and then write for some more money right away. You can have everything you want now, can't you?"

Chrystobel had secretly pitied Tabitha because her monthly allowance of pocket money was so small, and she did not understand how anyone could receive the good news with such a calmly disinterested air. But Tabitha was not disinterested in the least. She was simply too busy with her thoughts to notice that her companions evidently expected some demonstration on her part in view of the astonishing news. Carrie was the only one who understood, and she explained,

"Kitty is so surprised she doesn't know what to say, do you, Puss? Better open your letter and see what they write you about it. Is it from Mrs. Vane?"

Tabitha's letter had remained unnoticed in her lap where Carrie had tossed it, but now she lifted it, and inspected the envelope before replying, "No, it is from Tom. Why—I—I—think I—won't read it just now."

Her flushed face had paled, and she caught her breath sharply, for the letter was post-marked Silver Bow instead of Reno; but without further comment she slipped it into her Latin Book and joined in the gay chatter with her companions, a secret fear tugging at her heart.

Sometime later, after successfully eluding the laughing group, she stole away to her room, locked the door, and tore open the envelope with hands that trembled so violently she could scarcely control them, whispering to herself, "What can Tom be doing at home? College doesn't close for a month yet. I wonder if his money is all gone, and he can't finish the term. Or has Dad sent for him to help out in the mine? No, he wouldn't do that, surely."

She spread the rattling paper out on the table, and with difficulty spelled out the scrawl written with pencil and evidently in much haste. The message was brief:

Dear Puss:—I suppose you have already heard the good news of the strike on Dad's claims. I meant to have written you about it before, but have been too busy. The vein is larger than at first appeared, and quite rich; but of course we can't tell yet whether it is more than a pocket. We think it is a sure-enough vein, however.

In timbering a shaft which threatened to cave in, Dad was hurt, and they sent for me. We have him at the house, for he refused to be taken to the Miners' Hospital. I am glad it happened so near the end of the college year. If he gets along all right, I can take the examinations I must miss now in September, and go along with the work of the class next year. When will your school be out? I don't think you have ever said. I suppose you are busy now getting ready for examinations—or don't you have such things there? Don't study too hard, Puss, and don't be alarmed about Dad.

With love, TOM.

The letter fluttered unheeded to the floor, and Tabitha, having read anxiety between the lines, sat in a brown study.

Dad hurt, Tom at home, Aunt Maria in the East! She was only a little girl, but she could help a great deal around the house, and maybe—maybe she could be of assistance in the sick-room. She shuddered at this thought, for fear of her father was still strong in her heart. But she could not shirk her duty; she must go home. She gathered up the letter, stole out of the room and down to the principal's office, where she found Miss Pomeroy still at work at her desk.

"What is it, dear?" asked the busy woman, smiling up from her papers at the sober yet determined black eyes.

"I am going home," answered the girl, laying Tom's message on the desk and waiting for it to be read.

When Miss Pomeroy had finished, she turned to the child at her side, and slipping her arm about the slight figure, drew her close, saying, "You think they need you, dear? He doesn't say anything about wanting you to come."

"Oh, Tom wouldn't ask me to come, no matter how much he might want me. But there is no one at home in Silver Bow to take care of Dad, except Tom, and men don't know much about nursing sick folks. I ought to go."

"I think your decision is the right one, Tabitha," said the sweet voice after a long pause. "I don't like to see you go, but I am glad for your sake that school is so nearly done that you will lose only a few weeks. That can easily be made up during the summer. Your teachers will tell you how much further to study. I am so sorry, little girl, that this has happened! I will do anything in my power to help you, and would urge you to stay and finish the term, only that I would not want to keep you when you feel that you may be needed there. When do you want to go?"

"Tonight," was the prompt reply, for some way Miss Pomeroy's words gave her added courage in her hard decision, and she wanted to be gone before she had a chance to repent. "Don't tell the girls. It is hard to have to leave just now when the year is so nearly done, though if I must go, I am glad I shall miss only four weeks more of school. But I really can't say good-by to anyone. It has been so lovely here, Miss Pomeroy!"

"Dear little Tabitha," murmured the woman tenderly. "It has been lovely to have you with us, too, and I shall look forward to next autumn to bring back our precious girl who is not only learning life's great lessons herself, but is also teaching us the beauty of living. Go now to your packing. I will send Miss Summers to help you, and will myself attend to your ticket. As soon as the trunk is ready, John will take it to the depot and have it checked. Keep a brave heart under the little jacket, dear, and remember the One who is everywhere."

So a few hours later she was helped aboard the train by the dusky porter, and was whirled away into the darkness of the night toward home, cheered but anxious.



CHAPTER XX

A HAPPY HOME

Unknown to Tabitha, Miss Pomeroy had telegraphed her coming, and Tom was there to meet her at the station when the cars slowed down at the forsaken-looking desert town. She looked at his white, haggard face and heavy eyes, and her heart stood still. "Oh, Tom, he isn't—"

"No, dear, not that. He is better this morning, the doctor says; but he is pretty badly hurt. I am glad you have come, though we didn't think it was necessary to send for you."

That was all they said until the weather-beaten cottage was reached. Then just as Tabitha opened the screen to enter the stifling kitchen, Tom spoke:

"He is in your room. He insisted upon being put there with the bed drawn up by the window. They probably won't let you see him yet, but there is a heap of things to be done that I haven't the slightest notion about, Puss. I can sweep and dust and make beds, and even cook potatoes and boil coffee, but how in creation do you make broths that a sick man will eat? And where can a fellow get cool water this kind of weather with no ice in town? The ice-plant burned last week."

Tabitha's anxiety lifted for the moment, and laying aside her dainty traveling dress, she donned a big apron and fell to work setting the little house to rights. Those were hard days that followed, and more than once the burden seemed almost too great for the slender shoulders. Two miners were hurt at the Silver Legion, and the nurse was called away to care for them at the hospital. The hot winds descended suddenly upon the desert and Silver Bow writhed under the fierce glare of the blazing sun. All who could get away left the stifling town for the cool breath of the seashore, and no help could be found for the girl working so bravely in the lonely little cottage, taking the place of nurse and housekeeper and facing a situation before which many a stouter heart would have quailed. Tom did his best, but the sick man became possessed of a whim that no one should wait upon him but poor, tired Tabitha, and day and night found her ministering to him in the sweltering heat that seemed fairly to cook town and people.

Dr. Vane's face grew very grave as he watched the struggle, and one day he said to Tom as he was leaving on his other calls, "Is it possible for your aunt to come out here again?"

"I am afraid not, sir," was the discouraged answer. "She is just recovering from a severe siege of fever herself."

The doctor shook his head. "I ought to have sent your father to Los Angeles the minute I was called to attend him; but he was so set against it that I didn't insist, and now—"

"Is there any danger?"

"If this heat would let up a little, I think there would be no doubt but that we could pull him through. But—Tabitha ought to have some help for her own sake."

Poor Tom! He could see that the little sister was weakening, and he was doing all in his power to lighten her load, but he could not help her in her ceaseless watching which was telling so fearfully on her strength. In an agony of anguish and despair he slipped out to the back steps and sat heavily down in the shade of the house, dropping his hot head on his arms and two stinging tears coursing down his cheeks.

"I beg your pardon, but isn't this where Mr. Catt lives?"

The voice spoke directly at his elbow, and Tom, so much absorbed in his unhappy thoughts that he had not heard the approaching footsteps, looked up in surprise to see a tall, well-dressed, refined-looking stranger on the lower step.

"Yes, sir."

"May I see him?"

"He is very sick—hurt—and doesn't know anyone. We can't allow folks to see him."

"I understood that he was seriously injured and that you needed someone to help care for him. I—"

"We are in need of help," Tom interrupted; "but he won't let anyone wait on him but my sister."

"He will me." The man spoke with such confidence that again Tom looked his surprise. "The little girl is all tired out. Take me to your father. Oh, it is all right! I have Dr. Vane's sanction. Besides—well, I may as well tell you now. I am the 'hermit of the hills' whom Tabitha saved from burning to death more than a year ago. I was your father's partner once and his dearest friend; but I proved false to my trust. I cheated him out of his share in some valuable property—wrecked his whole life. Take me to him and don't fear the consequences."

Tom rose quickly. "Come inside. Tabitha is with him now."

He led the unexpected guest to the little room where the sick man lay tossing and muttering in the delirium of fever.

"Why didn't you put ice in that water?" he was saying querulously. "If you are bound to feed me boiled water, I want it cold."

Patient little Tabitha sighed wearily and turned toward the kitchen with the rejected glass on the tray, just as the hermit paused on the threshold.

"Here is a glass of ice-water, Lynne," said the stranger, taking the tumbler from the girl's hand. "Drink this and go to sleep."

"Why, hello, Decker!" exclaimed the patient, with a gleam of intelligence lighting his face for the moment. "How did you come here? Say, that water is fine!"

Dropping back among the pillows, the exhausted man slept; and Tabitha, relieved of her responsibility, crept away to hold a quiet jubilation with Tom before she, too, fell asleep, worn out by her tireless vigil.

Meanwhile the stranger busied himself with the neglected housework, and soon the cottage took on a comfortable appearance again; Tom's spirits began to rise and hope to sing in his discouraged heart once more. Perhaps things were not as bad as they had seemed after all. At evening the busy doctor drove up again, and was rejoiced to find both patient and nurse still sleeping.

"There is a big storm brewing up in the mountains," he announced jubilantly, "and we ought to have it a bit cooler here in a few hours. Let them sleep as long as they will; both need it. Keep up your courage, Tom; Simmons is a jewel and knows just what to do." He was gone again, leaving Tom standing on the steps in the blackness of the night, singing in his heart a hymn of thanksgiving.

The storm broke at length with terrible fury, and all night the heavy thunder crashed from peak to peak as if threatening total destruction to everything on the desert below; but when the hurricane had spent its fury, the fearful heat was broken, and the whole world awoke refreshed from its bath. In the sweet coolness of the early dawn, Mr. Catt opened his eyes to consciousness for the first time since the day of the accident, and his gaze fell upon the face of his strange nurse sitting beside his bed.

"Decker Simmons!" he exclaimed in a weak, incredulous voice.

"Yes, Lynne. I have come back to face the music, but I have brought with me every cent of your money and interest. Can you forgive the great wrong I have done you?" His scarred face worked pathetically, and he stretched out his hands somewhat hesitatingly, with entreaty in his whole bearing.

The sick man looked steadily at him for a long moment, then clasped the proffered hand weakly, and murmured, "I forgive!"

A deep silence fell over the room; then after a few moments of thought too sacred for words, the invalid asked faintly, "Have you told Thomas and Tabitha?"

"Yes."

He sighed contentedly, and still holding tightly to the hermit's hand, drifted away into refreshing, health-giving slumber.

So it happened that a few days later when strength was flowing back into the injured man's veins, he called his children to him. They went with something like trepidation in their hearts; but one look into the white face on the pillow told them that this was not the same man whom they had known and feared all their lives. It may have been the restored confidence in his friend, it may have been that the fever had burned out the austerity and selfishness of his heart and brought the real fatherly tenderness to the surface. He mutely held out a thin hand to each, and they awkwardly gave him theirs, not knowing what to say and sitting in silent embarrassment on either side of the bed, waiting for him to speak. At last he laid Tabitha's hand on the counterpane, and fumbling beneath his pillow, drew forth a bright gold piece, which he held out to her, smiling sadly at the surprise in her face.

"What is this?" she found voice to ask.

"Long ago I punished you severely—too severely—and you called me a beast. I think that was the first time I ever recognized how thoroughly beastly I was. I—I wasn't man enough to tell you so, nor to admit how sorry I was for my severity; so after you were asleep, I put this in your hand, thinking it might—make up for my harshness. I suppose it dropped to the floor during the night and rolled into that wide crack in the corner where the bed used to stand. I saw the glint of it this morning when a sunbeam chanced to fall upon it, and it brought back the memory of that other day. Tabitha, I am sorry. Is it too late to forgive me now?"

Tom surreptitiously drew his free hand across his eyes; and Tabitha, almost too surprised for reply, squeezed her father's arm in a gentle caress, as she whispered chokingly, "I forgave that long ago. It did seem too great a punishment then, but it taught me a lesson I have never forgotten."

"Poor little daughter! What a selfish brute I have been! And I might have made you so happy!"

"Don't, Dad!" she pleaded. "I—I—you have made me happy now! The rest doesn't count!"

He smiled tenderly into the soft black eyes, as he drew her closer to him and said wistfully, "I wish the rest didn't count, children; but the fact still remains that I have not done right by my boy and girl. I am sorry, and when I get up from this bed, I mean to be a better man.

"Decker has come back, we are going into partnership again and work those claims for all there is in them. Tom shall finish college and Tabitha shall go back to boarding school or wherever she likes. There is money enough for whatever you want, and it is all yours. A man with children like mine is graciously blessed. I have been a fool and wasted many precious years. I can't bring them back and live them over, but I can and will live the rest of my life right in God's sight. Can you still love me in spite of all that is past, children?"

For answer, by common impulse they slipped their arms around him, and he drew each face down to his and kissed it. The barriers of years were swept away, and father and children were united by love.

For a long time the little group sat there talking over plans for their future happiness and drinking in the supremest joy of living.

Then the father spoke abruptly: "There is another matter, children. When I named you as I did, I thought I was spiting the world. My own life had been made bitter by just that same thing, and I wanted to get even; but I only broke your mother's heart and made you both as miserable as I had been. It isn't too late yet to change that. Drop those names I gave you and choose for yourselves what you would like to be called."

They stared at each other, then at him, in dumb amazement. Change their names! The possibility of having such a privilege granted them had never occurred to either one before. At length Tabitha spoke:

"If you had told me that once, I would have done it only too quickly; but now I have learned that if a person is kind and lovable, no one cares what the name is. Pretty names don't make nice people, and homely ones don't make them bad, either. I am—beginning—to rather like 'Tabitha' now, and I don't wish to change my name."

"Or I mine," added Tom; and once more the father drew their faces down to his own and kissed them.

THE END