“Poor Christie, it’s hard that you should go away with a wound like this on the hand that has done so much for us,” said David, as he carefully adjusted the black strip on that forefinger, roughened by many stitches set for him.

“I loved to do it,” was all Christie trusted herself to say.

“I know you did; and in your own words I can only answer:  ’I don’t know how to thank you, but I never shall forget it.’” And David kissed the wounded hand as gratefully and reverently as if its palm was not hardened by the humblest tasks.

If he had only known—­ah, if he had only known!—­how easily he might repay that debt, and heal the deeper wound in Christie’s heart.  As it was, she could only say, “You are too kind,” and begin to shovel tea into the pot, as Kitty came in, as rosy and fresh as the daisies she put in her hair.

“Ain’t they becoming?” she asked, turning to David for admiration.

“No, thank you,” he answered absently, looking out over her head, as he stood upon the rug in the attitude which the best men will assume in the bosoms of their families.

Kitty looked offended, and turned to the mirror for comfort; while Christie went on shovelling tea, quite unconscious what she was about till David said gravely: 

“Won’t that be rather strong?”

“How stupid of me!  I always forget that Kitty does not drink tea,” and Christie rectified her mistake with all speed.

Kitty laughed, and said in her pert little way: 

“Getting up early don’t seem to agree with either of you this morning:  I wonder what you’ve been doing?”

“Your work.  Suppose you bring in the kettle:  Christie has hurt her hand.”

David spoke quietly; but Kitty looked as much surprised as if he had boxed her ears, for he had never used that tone to her before.  She meekly obeyed; and David added with a smile to Christie: 

“Mother is coming down, and you’ll have to get more color into your checks if you mean to hide your accident from her.”

“That is easily done;” and Christie rubbed her pale cheeks till they rivalled Kitty’s in their bloom.

“How well you women know how to conceal your wounds,” said David, half to himself.

“It is an invaluable accomplishment for us sometimes:  you forget that I have been an actress,” answered Christie, with a bitter sort of smile.

“I wish I could forget what I have been!” muttered David, turning his back to her and kicking a log that had rolled out of place.

In came Mrs. Sterling, and every one brightened up to meet her.  Kitty was silent, and wore an injured air which nobody minded; Christie was very lively; and David did his best to help her through that last meal, which was a hard one to three out of the four.

At noon a carriage came for Christie, and she said good-by, as she had drilled herself to say it, cheerfully and steadily.