What _was_ the matter? For an instant or two she was too bewildered to tell. The room seemed filled with fluff; a sort of dust was in the air; Kathie's own dress and hair looked as if they had been snowed upon; every piece of furniture in the room was covered with what on closer inspection proved to be feathers! And Kathleen herself, the image of despair, stood in helpless distress.

'Oh, aunty,' she said, reminding one of the merchant in 'The Arabian Nights,' when he had let the genii out of the bottle, 'I _can't_ get them in again.' Poor Kathie--her genii were to be reckoned by thousands!

'What is it? What _have_ you been doing? Feathers!' exclaimed Miss Clotilda, stooping to examine a whitey-grey heap on the floor, which, disturbed even by her gentle movements, forthwith flew up in clouds, choking and blinding her. '_Feathers_--my dear child!'

'Oh, aunty,' said Kathleen, bursting into tears, 'I never knew they were such horrid things. It's my pillow, and one off Neville's bed, and two off yours, and one off the big green-room bed, and--I got them all in here;' and then amidst her sobs she went on to tell her aunt of the old woman's story and the search it had suggested. 'I didn't mean to empty the pillows, but they kept coming out so when I put my arm in to feel, and I thought at last it would be easier to shake them all out and fill the covers again, so that I couldn't have missed even a small piece of paper. But it's no good; and oh, I've made such a mess!'

There was no denying this last fact. Miss Clotilda hurried Kathie out of the room--for, as everybody knows, the fluff of feathers is really injurious to the throat and lungs--and hurried Martha up to see what could be done. It ended in a woman having to be sent for from the village to re-imprison the flighty feathers in their cases; but even after this was done, Kathleen could not sleep in her room that night.

'I am so sorry, aunty,' she said, so humbly that kind Miss Clotilda could not but forgive her, though she made her promise for the future to attempt no more 'searches' without consulting her elders.

'Of course I'll promise that and more than that,' said Kathie, as she dried her eyes; 'I won't search _at all_ for that nasty will. I didn't want to, only I thought Philippa would say I should have tried to find it. But I'll just show her it's no use.'

And Neville was so sorry to see her distress that he did not even remind her of _his_ having told her that searching the pillows would be no use; which, in my opinion, was truly generous of him.

All troubles were, however, cast into the shade when the next morning brought a letter from Mr. Wentworth, Philippa's uncle, most heartily thanking Miss Clotilda for her kindness, and eagerly accepting her invitation. Mr. Wentworth wrote that he had been quite distressed at the idea of sending the poor child back to school, but till Miss Clotilda's proposal came he had seen no help for it. He went on to say that he would bring Philippa himself to Hafod if Miss Clotilda could send to meet her there, but that he could only make the journey _at once_. If 'Thursday' were too soon for Philippa to come, would Miss Powys telegraph to say so--in that case he feared the visit would have to be put off till he could hear of an escort.

'Thursday!' Miss Clotilda exclaimed, 'that is to-morrow. Telegraph! It is plain Mr. Wentworth does not know much of this part of the country.

There is no telegraph office nearer than Boyneth, and that is half-way to Hafod.'

'But, aunty,' said Kathleen, looking up from the little sc.r.a.p to herself which Philippa had slipped into her uncle's letter, 'need you think of telegraphing? Mayn't she come to-morrow? She is so happy--oh, aunty, do read her dear little letter.'

Aunty did not need much persuasion.

'If we can get things ready, and if Mr. Mortimer can lend us his waggonette,' she said hesitatingly. 'There is your room still upset, you know, Kathie,' at which Kathleen grew very red; 'and I don't know'--

'Can't I go to Mr. Mortimer's and ask him?' said Neville. 'It isn't very far, and I can find the way, I'm sure.'

'That might do,' said his aunt; 'and if the waggonette is not to be had, perhaps he would lend us the pony-carriage. That would do for two, besides the one driving.'

So it turned out. The waggonette was required to meet friends of the Mortimers themselves, arriving to-morrow, but Miss Clotilda was welcome to the pony-cart, and the strong pony which drew it would be quite able for the two journeys, with a good rest between. And the little girl's luggage might come up with that of the Mortimers' friends, and be left at Ty-gwyn on the way.

There was only one drawback; Kathleen could not go to the station. Miss Clotilda would drive, and Neville must go with her to open gates, etc., in case of need. And Kathleen must content herself for staying at home by adorning Philippa's room with flowers, as Neville had suggested.

'Only, whatever you do, please leave the pillows alone my dear,' said Miss Clotilda, as they drove off the next morning.

Kathie was quite cured of searching for the lost will, though not sorry to be able to a.s.sure her eager little friend that she really _had_ done so. The day pa.s.sed quickly enough, however; for, to make up for the trouble she had given the day before, she set herself to be particularly useful to Martha. And by seven o'clock, the time at which the pony-carriage might be _begun_ to be looked for--for Philippa was to come by a much earlier train than the London express--Kathleen, having helped to set the tea-table and bake the cakes, and having given the last touch to Philippa's little room, was hopping about in front of the house, looking very neat and nice in a clean white frock, her face and eyes, indeed her whole little person, in a perfect glow of happy expectation.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Nor was her patience long put to the test. It was not more than twenty minutes past seven when approaching wheels were to be heard. Kathie scuttered back into the house; she wanted to be standing just within the door, not outside, when they arrived; and in another half minute there they were. Neville had jumped down and was helping out a little familiar figure, while Miss Clotilda smiled brightly at the sight of the children's delight.

'My dear old Phil!' 'My darling Kathie!' and for a moment or two hugs and kisses had it all to themselves. Then Miss Clotilda got out, and Neville got in again to drive the pony home, with many charges to be quick.

'Tea is quite ready,' Kathie called after him; 'and I'm so hungry that I can fancy what you must all be.'

'Take Philippa up to her room, Kathie,' said her aunt. 'Her luggage won't be here for an hour or two, but you can lend her a pair of slippers, I daresay.'

'Oh, mine would be far too big, aunty; but you may be sure Phil has got a pair in her bag,' said Kathie, laughing. 'She's a regular old maid, you know;' and she held up the bag in question for her aunt to see.

'Your room will just suit you, Phil,' she ran on; 'it's as tiny as yourself and as neat as a pin.'

And Philippa's exclamations of delight when they entered it, well rewarded Kathleen for all the trouble she had taken.

'Oh, Kathie,' said the little girl, 'what a _perfect_ place Ty-gwyn is!

and how kind and sweet your aunt is, and how good of you all to have me; and oh, Kathie, have you hunted well for the will?'

'Don't speak of it--horrid thing!' said Kathleen with a grimace. 'Yes, I have hunted for it--all to please you, Phil. I'll just tell you what I did,' and she proceeded to relate the unfortunate experience with the pillows.

Philippa was deeply interested.

'I don't think it's likely she hid it in a pillow,' she remarked. 'But I have such a feeling that it is somewhere in the house. I am sorry you don't mean to look any more, Kathie.'

'Oh well, don't talk about it any more just now,' said Kathleen. 'We want to be as happy as ever we can be. If only the weather is fine, and it does look better to-day,--oh, you don't know how it rained yesterday, and the day before worse still,--we can go such lovely walks. You know we're quite near the sea here--up there from that hill we can see it,'

and she pointed out of the window.

'Can we really?' said Philippa. 'How nice! I do think it is the loveliest place I ever saw, Kathie. How I do wish it was going to be your home for always!'

'Ah well! there's no use thinking of that,' said Kathleen, 'though of course we can't help wishing it. It's worst for aunty--isn't she sweet, Phil? Come now, are you ready? We'll just take a peep into my room on the way down--isn't it a jolly room, the very next door to yours, do you see? And afterwards I'll show you all the house--there are such lots of rooms, and all so nice and queer. Don't you smell that nice old-fashioned sort of scent, Phil? Like lavender and dried rose-leaves; and it's partly the scent of the wood of the wainscoting, aunty says.'

'Yes,' said Philippa, sniffing about with her funny little nose; 'it's very nice, and everything is so _beautifully_ clean, Kathie.

Grandmamma's house is very nice, but it hasn't the same sort of look and feeling this dear old house has.'

'I am so glad you like it, dear,' said Kathie, very amiably. 'But we must run down. I am sure you must be _very_ hungry.'

'I think I'm too happy to be very, very hungry,' said Philippa.

She managed, however, to do justice to the good things Martha had prepared, and Miss Clotilda told her she would be very disappointed indeed if three weeks at Ty-gwyn did not make her both fatter and rosier.

'But she's looking much better than she did at school, aunty,' said Kathleen. 'Last spring she was a miserable little object.'

'But that was because I was so very unhappy about mamma going away,'

said Philippa, getting rather red.

'Poor, dear child!' said Miss Clotilda. 'Ah, well! I can sympathise in that. But you will be able to send your mother a very cheerful letter from here, I hope.'

'Yes, indeed,' said the little girl. 'And I'm so glad now that we didn't write last week to tell her of grandmamma being ill, and my having to go back to school. Uncle and I talked it over, and we thought we might wait till this week, and now she'll hear of grandmamma's being better and me coming here, at the same time, so it won't make her unhappy.'

'Your uncle seems very kind indeed,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I was quite sorry for him to have to make such a long journey, and to go straight back again.'

'Yes,' said Philippa. 'But, you see,' she went on, in her funny little prim way, 'he wouldn't have felt happy to have left grandmamma longer alone. He will be home by eleven to-night.'

This first evening was not a very long one, for after tea Philippa's box arrived, and Kathleen had, of course, to go up-stairs with her little friend to help her to unpack her things and put them away. And Miss Clotilda told the children that they must go to bed early, as Philippa would be tired.

'Have you been very tidy, Kathie, without me?' asked Philippa. 'I'm sure you must often have wanted me to put your belongings neat, and to find your pencils and gloves, and all the things you lose.'

'No; I've got on very well indeed, thank you, Miss Conceit,' said Kathie, laughing. 'It's much easier here than at school. There's so much more room, and one isn't so hurried.'

'Still, it would show a good deal if you were very untidy,' said Philippa. 'The house does look so neat all over. Have you done any work, Kathie? I am in such a fuss about what I can make to send to mamma for her birthday. I've always made her something every year as long as I can remember, and I wouldn't like to miss this year, the first I've been away from her.'