LOUISE had wondered why Katie Salter had not appeared to do the weekly washing. In the light of a report brought by the mail carrier the reason was now too frightfully clear. Katie's son, a boy of twelve, had accidentally killed himself while examining an old shot-gun.
Keble was sitting at his table filling in a cheque. Louise had been silently watching him. "I'll give this to Sweet to take to Katie on his way back to the Valley," he said. "It will cover expenses and more."
"Give it to me instead, dear. I'll take it when I go this afternoon."
"Oh! Then what about our trip to the Dam with the Browns?"
"I'm afraid I'll have to be excused. I must do what I can for Katie. She has nobody."
"She has the neighbors. Mrs. what's her name, Dixon, is taking care of her. Besides, all the women for miles around flock together for an occasion of that sort. It will be rather ghastly."
"Especially for Katie. That's why I have to go."
"Oh, Lord! if you feel you must. I'll come with you."
She rose from her chair and picked up the cheque
