"Yes, yes, I mean to be good to you; but don't begin to fret about your sins until you are better. Leave unpleasant things alone. Go to sleep, Elma; go to sleep."

Kitty went out of the room and stood and reflected for a few moments on the landing.

"Here's a state of things," Kitty said to herself; "but on the whole I rather like it. I knew I should be good in emergencies; I felt that it was in me. I am afraid poor Elma is going to be downright ill. I suppose I did wrong to run away--perhaps I did; but I am so relieved about Laurie that nothing else seems to matter now. I will telegraph immediately to the dear old dad and ask him to come right away here at once. When I see him and know that Laurie is really saved, I'll just tell him everything. Oh, yes, that is the only--only thing to do."

Kitty went straight to the nearest post office, and in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time the following message was being carried across the wires to Castle Malone:

"AT THE SIGN OF THE RED DOE, SALTBURY.--You will be surprised, father; but I have run away from school. I will tell you everything when I see you. I am here with a sick girl who has also run away. We have very little money; and I, your Kitty, want you dreadfully. Come to me as quickly as you can.

"KITTY MALONE."

"Bless him," said the girl to herself. "He may be angry for a minute, but this message will bring him on the wings of the wind. Now that it has gone off I wonder ought I to let them know at Middleton?"

Kitty reflected earnestly over this problem. She quickly, however, made up her mind to keep her secret to herself.

"A little suspense will be rather good for Alice than otherwise," she thought; "and although Mr and Mrs. Denvers may be anxious about me, they can but telegraph to father; and as he will know my address already it won't put him into a taking. Miss Sherrard too can bear it; and as to Carrie, I am really sorry for poor old Carrie, and I should not much mind having her here; but I think until father comes I will look after Elma my lone self, as they say in Ireland."

Having made up her mind, Kitty went back to the hotel and asked the landlady, with whom she was now great friends, to send for the best doctor in the neighborhood.

Dr. Marchand arrived in the course of the morning, and p.r.o.nounced Elma to be ill, but not alarmingly so.

"Your young friend is suffering from considerable shock," he said, "and has evidently also taken a severe cold; but with care and nursing she will in all probability soon get relief--that is, if the strain from which she is suffering is taken off her mind."

"Oh, I think I can manage that," answered Kitty, nodding to the doctor in a very bright and frank way. Her dark-blue eyes were shining like stars; the color in her cheeks, the set of her beautiful head on her lovely neck, the very arrangement of her clothes fairly bewitched that good man. He had seldom seen such sparkling eyes nor such a beautiful dimpled mouth. Kitty's manner completely won Dr. Marchand over to her side, as it had already done the good people at the hotel.

After getting innumerable directions from the doctor, she went downstairs to consult with her land lady.

"Now, Mrs. Stacey," she said, "I must buy lots of things, and I wonder if you can help me. I have telegraphed to father to come here; but until he does I have only this much;" here she opened her purse and tumbled the contents on to the landlady's palm.

Mrs. Stacey started back in some astonishment. Really this was a very fascinating young lady; but she had never met anybody quite so--so out of the common.

"You can reckon it up if you like," said Kitty; "you will see that it does not come to two pounds. Now, do you know of a shop that would trust me--give me credit, I mean--for some things?"

"What sort of things, miss?"

"Oh, clothes, and a couple of trunks. You see, we are not respectable without trunks, are we?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Malone, you are."

"But do you know of such a shop? Please think very hard, Mrs. Stacey."

"Williamson's round the corner will oblige you to any extent, miss, if you mention my name."

"Then I'll go there immediately. Thank you; how very nice you are!" said Kitty.

"Of course I ought not to be nice to you, miss, for it ain't right--no, that it ain't--to encourage runaways."

"When you know our story you will be quite glad you encouraged us,"

laughed Kitty.

"Then perhaps you'll confide in me, miss."

Kitty colored and thought for a moment.

"I think father must know it first," she said. "And now I must rush away to get the things that poor Elma requires."

During the course of that day it could scarcely be said that Kitty Malone was without luggage; for two new trunks presently made their appearance, full to the brim with all sorts of dainty clothing both for Elma and herself.

"Elma," she cried, dancing into the sick-room, "I have got two of the most charming hats you ever laid eyes on. Mine is sweetly becoming to me, and I am sure yours will suit you equally well; they are both big white leghorns, with great bunches of black feathers in front. Won't they look sweet with our new muslin dresses? Mine is pink, but I thought blue would suit you best. I expect dad to-morrow evening at the latest; and I am going to meet him at the station in my new hat and dress. There will be no doubt about his forgiving me when he sees me in them."

Just then there was a tap at the door, and Kitty, rushing to open it, found a telegram awaiting her. She tore it open and read the following words:

"Starting from Dublin by the night-boat, with you to-morrow.--DENNIS MALONE."

"There, didn't I say he was a darling--the best, best darling in the world?" cried the excited girl. "Oh, won't he have a _caed mille afaltha;_ won't he? Elma, I am almost beside myself."

"I don't know what you are talking about," said Elma. "What do you mean by those queer words?"

"_Caed mille afaltha_? Oh, they are the Irish for a hundred thousand welcomes. We put them over our arches and everything when people are coming home. Oh, they don't speak a half nor a quarter of what our hearts are full of. Oh father, father, the joy--the joy your poor little Kitty feels at the thought of seeing your darling face again!"

That night again Kitty lay awake, although Elma slept. Strange thoughts, strange and new, were coursing through the young girl's brain.

Everything had been a failure, and yet she felt bright and happy and like her old self once more.

"It is the thought of seeing father," she said to herself. "I was never fit for England. England and its ways will never suit me, never, never; but when I see father I shall be all right. Oh, to think that he is really coming, and that Laurie is saved! I must, of course, tell father everything; but he won't be angry with Laurie when I tell him the story in my own way."

Accordingly early the next morning Kitty dressed herself in the fascinating leghorn hat and slipped on the pink muslin dress, and, with a bunch of roses at her belt, sallied forth to the railway station. She soon found the right platform, and paced up and down in a fever of impatience waiting for the train. As she was doing so, flaunting her pretty little person in a somewhat aggressive way and causing some prim-looking ladies to gaze at her with anything but approval, a hand was laid on her arm, and turning she saw, to her amazement, the extremely indignant faces of Miss Sherrard and Miss Worrick.

"Well, Kitty, after this!" said Miss Sherrard,

"Oh, please don't scold me just now!" said Kitty, with a little gasp; "wait until he comes."

"Until who comes?"

"Father. I am expecting him by this train."

"I am relieved at that," said Miss Sherrard. "I shall have a painful tale to tell him."

"So you may, Miss Sherrard. You may tell him everything; but please let me tell him my story first. You must, you shall; I insist."

The girl's eyes were flashing; she was trembling all over. Just when her happiness seemed to be at its height, for Miss Sherrard and Miss Worrick to appear!

"Oh, and there's the train!" she cried. "He will be here in a minute; let me see him first. Oh, the train, is stopping, and there he is; I see him at the very end; there he is with his white hair and--let me go, let me go!"

She rushed from Miss Sherrard's retaining arm and flew up the platform, and a moment later the owner of the pink dress and leghorn hat was being clasped tightly, tightly to the breast of the magnificent-looking old gentleman, almost a king in his way, who had suddenly stepped on to the platform.

"Father, you'll protect me--they have come, they have followed me. You will let me tell you my story first? Father! father! oh, feel how my heart is beating!"

"Why, Kitty, asth.o.r.e; Kitty, Kitty, my own. What is it, Kit? I say, Kit, what is wrong?"