"They're going now," said Phyllis; "he's rung to have them shewn out."

But instead of shewing anybody out, Ruth shewed herself in, and she looked queer, the children thought.

"Please'm," she said, "the Master wants you to just step into the study. He looks like the dead, mum; I think he's had bad news. You'd best prepare yourself for the worst, 'm—p'raps it's a death in the family or a bank busted or—"

"That'll do, Ruth," said Mother, gently; "you can go."

Then Mother went into the Library. There was more talking. Then the bell rang again, and Ruth fetched a cab. The children heard boots go out and down the steps. The cab drove away, and the front door shut. Then Mother came in. Her dear face was as white as her lace collar, and her eyes looked very big and shining. Her mouth looked like just a line of pale red—her lips were thin and not their proper shape at all.

"It's bed-time," she said. "Ruth will put you to bed."

"But you promised we should sit up late to-night because Father's come home," said Phyllis.

"Father's been called away—on business," said Mother. "Come, darlings, go at once."