empty, and not a car was in sight on the lawns or driveway, where
usually a score of them stood. The green, clipped grass, and the
blossoming shrubs, baking in the afternoon heat, were silent and
deserted. The flame of geraniums, and the dazzle of the empty
white courts, smote her eyes. She heard Mrs. Fielding's feet
flying down the steps, and turned a bewildered, white face toward
her.

"Elsie--there's not a car! What shall I do?"

"Listen, dear," said the new-comer, breathlessly, "Ruth is
telephoning for a car--"

But Nancy's breath caught on a short, dry sob, and she shook her
head.

"All the way to the village--it can't be here for half an hour!
Oh, no, I can't wait--I can't wait--"

And quite without knowing what she did, or hoped to do, she began
to run. The crunched gravel beneath her flying feet was hot, and
the mile of road between her and Holly Court lay partly in the
white sunlight, but she thought only of Priscilla--the happy,
good, inexacting little baby, who had been put in her crib--with
her "cacker"--and left there--and left there--

"My baby!" she said out loud, in a voice of agony. "You were
having your nap--and mother a mile away!"

She passed the big stone gateway of the club, and the road--