But as she stood there for a moment trying to collect herself, Weller, the ’busman, came up to her, and he was real enough, and his anxious face was no dream-face.

“Good-morning, missie,” he said sympathetically.  “I’m sorry enough, I’m sure, to see you come home on such an errant.  ’Tis wisht, sure enough.”

Kitty was startled.  She thought he was referring to Betty, and wondered how he could know of her escapade.  “You knew she was gone?” she asked anxiously.

The man looked shocked.  “Gone!  Is she, poor lady?  Law now, miss, you don’t say so!  I hadn’t heard it.  She was just conscious when I called fore this morning to inquire, and they ’ad ’opes that she’d rally.”

“Then they have found her; but—­but is she ill?  Did she get hurt?—­the river!—­O Weller, do tell me quickly.  I came home on purpose to go to look for her.  Is she very ill?” Poor Kitty was nearly exhausted with anxiety and the shocks she had received.

Weller looked puzzled.  “Why,” he said slowly, “I never heard nothing about any river.  She was took ill and fell down in the room, missie.  Haven’t you heard?  They told me they was going to tellygraff for you so soon as the office was open, ’cause your poor aunt said your name once or twice—­almost the only words they’ve been able to make out since she was took ill; and with the master away and you the eldest, they thought you ought to be sent for.”

Then the rest of Betty’s letter came back to her mind, and as the importance of it was borne in on her, Kitty’s heart sank indeed in the face of such a double trouble.

“Oh, if only father were home!” was her first thought.  “But even if we send at once he can’t be here for ever so long.”  A moment later, though, she remembered his health, and how bad such news would be for him, with all those miles between, too; and she felt that unless it was absolutely necessary, they must spare him this trouble.

Rowe, the driver, came forward to help her to her seat.  “I think you’d best go outside, missie,” he said gently, “you’m looking so white.  P’r’aps the air’ll do ’ee good.  I’m afraid you’ve had a bad shock.”

“I—­I think I have,” gasped Kitty, as, very grateful for his sympathy, she mounted obediently.

Then Weller, who had suddenly disappeared, came back carrying a cup of steaming tea and a plate of bread and butter.  “Drink this, missie, and eat a bit,” he said, clambering carefully up with his precious burden, “then you’ll feel better.  You look as if you hadn’t tasted nothing but trouble lately,” he added sympathetically, as he arranged the tray on the seat beside her, and hurried down again to escape any thanks.

Tears of gratitude were in Kitty’s eyes as she ate and drank; and from sheer desire to show how much she appreciated his kindness, she finished all he had brought her, knowing that that would gratify him more than any thanks could.