The Complete Works of Frances Hodgson Burnett. Frances Hodgson Burnett

and we want to know what we shall do with the articles in your bed-sitting-room.”

      The friendliness of the two faithful Cupps and the humble Turkey-red comforts of the bed-sitting-room had meant home to Emily Fox-Seton. When she had turned her face and her tired feet away from discouraging errands and small humiliations and discomforts, she had turned them toward the bed-sitting-room, the hot little fire, the small, fat black kettle singing on the hob, and the two-and-eleven-penny tea-set. Not being given to crossing bridges before she reached them, she had never contemplated the dreary possibility that her refuge might be taken away from her. She had not dwelt upon the fact that she had no other real refuge on earth.

      As she walked among the sun-heated heather and the luxuriously droning bees, she dwelt upon it now with a suddenly realising sense. As it came home to her soul, her eyes filled with big tears, which brimmed over and rolled down her cheeks. They dropped upon the breast of her linen blouse and left marks.

      “I shall have to find a new bed-sitting-room somewhere,” she said, the breast of the linen blouse lifting itself sharply. “It will be so different to be in a house with strangers. Mrs. Cupp and Jane—” She was obliged to take out her handkerchief at that moment. “I am afraid I can’t get anything respectable for ten shillings a week. It Was very cheap—and they were so nice!”

      All her fatigue of the early morning had returned. Her feet began to burn and ache, and the sun felt almost unbearably hot. The mist in her eyes prevented her seeing the path before her. Once or twice she stumbled over something.

      “It seems as if it must be farther than four miles,” she said. “And then there is the walk back. I am tired. But I must get on, really.”