idly in the piling; now there was this great weight that she could
not deal with, laid upon her hands for bearing and for using; she
let it crush her down, not knowing that, fitting it bravely into her
life that was building, it might stand there the very threshold over
which she should pass into perfect shelter of content.

"Mother has been entirely bewildered by all this trouble," said
Sylvie, quietly, to Mr. Sherrett. "I don't think she really
understands. She has lived so long with things as they are, that she
cannot imagine them different. I think it is easier with me,
because, you know, I haven't been used to _anything_ such a _very_
long while."

Sylvie even smiled a tremulous little smile as she said this; and
Mr. Sherrett looked at her with one upon his own face that had as
much pitiful tenderness in it as could have shown through tears.

"You see we shall have to do something right off,--go somewhere; and
mother can't change the least thing. She can't spare Sabina, who has
heard of a good place, and must go soon at any rate, because nobody
else would know where things belonged or are put away, or fetch her
anything she wanted. And the very things, I suppose, don't belong to
us. How shall we break through and begin again?" Sylvie looked up
earnestly at Mr. Sherrett, asking this question. This was what she
really wanted to know.

"You will remove, I suppose?" said Mr. Sherrett "If you could hear
of a house,--if you could propose something definite,--if you and
Sabina could begin to pack up,--how would that be?"