“Oh do come, nursie dear,” said Mary. “It are so much nicer when you come too,” and baby cooed up in nurse’s face for all the world as if she were saying “do come,” too.

“I’d like to, dearly,” said nurse. “But I think I’d better rest my ankle one day more, and then I hope it will be quite well. I feel quite ashamed of having been so stupid about it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Artie. “It was the carpet’s fault for being loose.”

“And mine for not seeing it and getting it fastened,” said nurse. Though really I think it was more Emma’s fault, for she had charge of the passage where nurse had tripped and fallen.

“I think you’d much better wait another day,” said Leigh gravely.

And nurse said to herself that Master Leigh was very thoughtful for his age.

But Leigh had a reason of his own for not wanting nurse to go out with them that day, and if he had let himself think about it honestly he would have seen that his dislike to nurse coming showed that he was not doing right. But all he would allow to himself was “Nurse is so fussy.”

“If we could put you in the p’ram-bilator, that would be nice,” said Mary. “But I’m afraid it wouldn’t be big enough.”

“Of course not, you silly girl,” said Leigh rather crossly. He did not want the perambulator spoken of, for fear nurse should say something about not playing any tricks with it. But Mary stared at him. She could not understand why he was so cross.

It was again a very fine day for October. And as soon as they could be got ready after dinner the children set off for their walk.

“I’ll follow you in a moment,” said Leigh, as they were waiting at the side door into the garden while Emma got out the perambulator.

“If you go slowly down the drive I’ll make up to you. I’m going to fetch Fuzzy.”

Mary’s face fell. She was frightened of the dog, you know, when nurse was not there for her to walk beside, for Emma only laughed at her. “I wiss poor Fuzzy wasn’t coming,” she said. “Rubbish,” said Leigh, and then he said more kindly, “You needn’t be frightened of him, Mary, you’ll see. He can’t knock you down to-day;” and then, as he ran off, he cried back to Emma, “If I don’t catch you up in the drive, turn to the right. We’re going round by the smithy and the Lavender Cottages – it’s the best road for the p’ram-bilator.”

No one paid much attention to what he said, or they might have wondered what he meant, for there were plenty of good roads for the perambulator. Mary kept as close as she could to Emma and baby, and every now and then she looked round over her shoulder for fear of Fuzz coming full bang upon her in his affection, and knocking her down. But till they had got some little way along the road there was no sign of him or of Leigh.

Suddenly there came a whoop and cry from behind them. Mary caught hold of Emma’s skirt, and in another moment Leigh rushed past them, “driving Fuzz,” he would have said, though it looked more like Fuzz dragging him. The dog had his harness on, and Leigh was holding the reins and shouting to him.

“I’m taking it out of him,” he called out, “just to quiet him down. Doesn’t he go well?”

It was certainly a comfort to Mary to see that Fuzz was not loose; and in a minute or two, when the pair came back again, running more slowly, she left off trembling and began to laugh a little.

“Doesn’t Fuzzy go just like a little pony?” she said. “Hasn’t Leigh taught him cleverly?”

Then Leigh showed off all he had trained the dog to do. He made him walk quite slowly, and then run, and then stop short when he called out “Woa-wo-a, now; gently, old man,” till they all admired it greatly.

“He’d soon learn to pull a cart,” said Emma.

“He can pull a cart, that’s what I’ve been teaching him for,” said Leigh. “He could draw the p’ram-bilator beautifully.”

“Law!” said Emma, “could he now, really?”

“Of course he could,” said Leigh, “as soon as we get into the lane I’ll let you see. The road’s nice and smooth there.”

Mary clapped her hands. She thought it would be lovely. But Emma did hesitate a little.

“Are you sure it’s quite safe, Master Leigh?” she said.

“Safe, of course it’s safe,” said Leigh. “But if you’re afraid you can hold on behind just like you’re doing now, and then you can stop us going faster than you like.”

The lane, when they got into it, ran almost straight to the cottages. Leigh meant to pass them and come home by the smithy, for he wanted Yakeman to admire him driving Fuzzy. There was a hill to go down, as you may remember, from the cottages to Yakeman’s, and I do not know how Leigh meant to manage there. But as things turned out he did not get so far as that.

The little party stopped when they had got some way down the lane, and Leigh began to fasten Fuzz to the perambulator. He had got everything ready – for he had secretly tried it before, and he had straps of the right length which he brought out of his pocket. Mary and Artie stood admiring his cleverness, but Baby Dolly was not pleased. She wanted to go on, and of course she did not understand what they were all stopping for. So she began to cry. Poor little girl, what else could she do?

“P’raps she’s cold,” said Mary. “It are raver cold standing still.”

“Cold, Miss Mary, oh dear no,” said Emma. “She’s that wrapped up she couldn’t be cold. But she’s very fractious to-day; she was crying and fretting all the time nurse was dressing her. Nurse spoils her – if she were my baby I’d be a bit sharper with her.”

“Poor Dolly – dear Dolly,” said Mary, going up to her little sister and trying to sooth her. “Don’t cry – Dolly’s going to have a beauty drive and go so fast.”

“Get out of the way, Mary,” shouted Leigh. “We’re just starting, don’t you see?”

He held the reins in his hand and ran back behind the perambulator. Then he made Emma take her place as usual, holding the bar – not that there was any need for her, he said, but just to make quite sure of Fuzz not running away – they were a funny-looking party, Emma between the reins and Fuzzy wagging his tail in his hurry to be off. Dolly left off crying and stared about her, wondering what it all meant.

“Gee-up, old fellow,” said Leigh, Emma giving a little starting push at the same time, and off they went, Mary and Artie at each side, breathless with excitement.

At first it seemed all right. They went slowly, and Fuzzy did nothing worse than stand still every minute or two, and look over his shoulder to see what was behind him. The first and second times he did this Leigh only called out, “All right, old fellow – gee-up then.” But when it got to the third and fourth time Leigh grew impatient.

“Get on with you, you stupid fellow,” he shouted, cracking the whip he held.

And poor Fuzzy, meaning no harm, not understanding what all the unusual noise and fuss were about, did the only thing he could – he did “get on.” He started off, running as fast as he could, and that was pretty fast, for the carriage was very light and Emma was pushing – she could not have helped pushing as she was holding the bar and running. And for a minute or two she laughed so that she could not speak. The silly girl thought it was such fun. And seeing her laughing, Leigh thought it was all right and laughed too. But – on went Fuzz, excited by the laughter, and thinking he was doing all right, till – at the corner where the lane they were in crossed another lane or road, wider but much rougher, and full of deep cart-ruts – instead of keeping straight on he turned sharply round, for some doggy reason or other, and rushed, still at the same speed, along this road to the right.

“Fuzz,” shouted Leigh, tugging at the left rein. “Fuzz, wo-a then, wo-a.”

“Stop, stop,” screamed Emma.

But it was no use; in another instant Emma, already panting with running and laughing, found herself flung off as it were, and Leigh, a moment after, lay sprawling at full length on the road, the reins torn out of his grasp, while Fuzzy in the greatest delight rushed on, on – the perambulator after him, swaying from side to side; and, oh dear, dear – sweet baby Dolly inside!

Mary and Artie were some little way behind, but when they came up, this was what they saw: Emma sitting on the road crying and rubbing her arm, Leigh tearing along as fast as he could go, and a small dark thing far in front of him, bumping up and down among the cart-ruts, and swinging from side to side, as if every moment it would tumble over, or else be broken to pieces.

Mary stood still and screamed. Artie ran on at once, shouting at the top of his voice, though I do not quite know what good he thought that would do. And then Mary ran after him and left off screaming, which was sensible. Indeed, I think both of them showed more sense than silly Emma, though she was grown up and they were little children. For what could be less use than to sit on the ground crying and rubbing her bruised arm?

But somebody else – somebody none of them was thinking of at all – showed the most sense of any one.

The Perry children were coming along a field-path at one side of the road – it was dry weather, and the path was pretty hard and smooth, so Comfort and the old wicker perambulator got on pretty well with Janie and the baby beside them of course – when the sound of Leigh’s shouts came across the hedge. Janie had quick ears and still quicker wits.

“Someat’s wrong,” she cried, and she plumped the baby into her sister’s arms. “Now hold he,” she added, and for once Comfort had to leave off reading – indeed the flop of the baby made her book drop to the ground – and get it into her head that the care of her three baby brothers was her business for the present, while Janie flew to the gate, which she scrambled over or crept under, I am not sure which, in less time than it takes to tell it, and found herself in the middle of the road.

Leigh was some little way off still; but nearer than he, and coming nearer every instant, was something else which made even Janie’s stout little heart rise up to her mouth, as she afterwards said. It was the perambulator from the Hall, the beautiful new perambulator, banging and dashing along, dragged by something that looked just then very like a little wild beast instead of a well-disposed tame doggie. And yet it was only looks, for Fuzzy was in the best of spirits, quite pleased with himself, and thinking that Leigh’s shouts only meant he was to go faster and faster.

But Janie had not time to think anything. She only saw that the perambulator was not empty; she only took in that it must be stopped. She would not have been frightened, even if she had thought the dog was mad, for she was very brave. But she knew that her voice would have no power over him, and she made her plan in a moment. Just as the wildly excited dog came close to her – luckily just then he was going pretty evenly – she threw herself in his way, which made him slacken his pace, and then, somehow or other, she got hold of the edge of the carriage, holding on to it with all her strength, and she was very strong for her size. And then – what happened exactly she could not tell – I fancy Fuzzy must have given a bound forward to get rid of this troublesome interruption to his grand race – but before she knew where she was they were all in a jumbled-up heap on the ground, Janie, Baby Dolly, perambulator, and dog – Fuzzy barking loudly; baby, Janie was thankful to hear, crying and roaring, but, as far as the small sister-nurse could make out, unhurt.

She had got her safely in her motherly little arms by the time Leigh came up. The first thing he did was to seize hold of the reins which had been dragging behind, for after a glance had shown him that the baby was in good hands, Leigh’s next thought was for the new perambulator.

“She’s not hurt?” he exclaimed.

“No, no, sir. I think not,” said Janie. “She fell soft – right atop of me, Master Leigh. Hush, hush now, Miss Baby dear. Don’t ’ee cry. There’s Miss Mary a-coming along. Hush, hush, my dearie.”

And in surprise at the strange voice, and pleased by the sweet tones, Dolly actually did leave off crying. She opened her eyes wide, and by degrees a smile – a real smile – crept out of her mouth, and brightened up all the little face, still shining with tears. So that when poor wee Mary, all out of breath, and white with fear for her darling sister, came up to the little group, Janie was able to say, while Dolly stretched out her hands in welcome —

“She’s not hurt, Miss Mary, dear. She’s not hurt.”

Leigh by this time had unfastened Fuzz, and set the perambulator on its legs, or wheels, again. He was all trembling; and though it was not a hot day of course, the drops were standing out on his forehead. Wonderful to say, the perambulator was not broken or spoilt.

“Oh Mary,” said Leigh. He could scarcely speak. “Oh Janie, I don’t know how to thank you.”

Janie opened her eyes. It had never come into her head that she had done anything to be thanked for. But she was, as I said, very sensible.

“Master Leigh,” she replied, “I couldn’t a’ done less – that’s nothing. But I can’t think how Mrs Nurse could a’ let you do such a thing.”

“Nurse is ill; at least she’s hurt her leg,” said Leigh. “It’s Emma that’s with us.”

“Then she oughter be ashamed of herself,” exclaimed Janie, as if she was nineteen and Emma ten, instead of the other way about. “What’s the good of a big person to look after children if she’s as silly as them. I beg your parding, Master Leigh, but this ’ere precious baby’s had a narrer escape, and no mistake.”

Janie was hot with indignation and fright.

“But you tried yourselves, Janie,” said Leigh, feeling rather small. “Ned harnessed himself to – ”

“That was quite different,” said Janie. “And I told you the other day as it hadn’t turned out a good plan at all. I’m sure if I’d had any notion you were thinking of such a thing, I’d have – ” she stopped, then went on again, “But you’ll never try such tricks again, now, will you, Master Leigh? And you’ll go straight to your dear mamma as soon as you get in and tell her all about it.”

“No, I’ll never try it again, I promise you. And of course I’d rather tell about it myself, Janie. You won’t, will you? They’d be making such a song of it all through the village.”

“Very well then, I won’t say nothing,” agreed the little woman. “And I’ll tell Comfort – she’s in the field there behind the hedge with the babies. I’ll see to it that Comfort says nothing neither.”

Then Janie put Baby Dolly tenderly back into her nest again, charging the children to stay close round her till Emma came up, “for fear the sweet little lady should be frightened again.” There was a vision in the distance of Emma slowly making her way to them, and Janie did not want to see her.

“I’ve a sharp tongue in my head, and I’d mebbe say too much,” she thought.

So she hurried back to her own charges, whom she found quite content; the baby sprawling on Comfort’s knee, and Comfort seated on the grass, late October though it was, buried in her book. There was no need to warn her to say nothing. She looked up with a start as Janie ran up to them.

“What have you been doing, Janie?” she said. She had no idea anything had been the matter!

Emma was very cross when she got to the children. She was vexed at her own arm being bruised, and began scolding Leigh as if he had done it all on purpose to hurt her.

“You said it would be as right as could be, Master Leigh,” she grumbled, “and how was I to know? I’m not going to be scolded for it, I can tell you.”

“You needn’t be afraid,” said Leigh, very proudly. “I’ll take all the blame on myself when I tell mamma.”

Then Emma changed her tone and began to cry.

“You’ll not really tell your mamma,” she said. “Of course I’d be blamed, and I’d lose a good place, and what my poor mother’d say I don’t know. It’d go near to break her heart, and she’s not well. Oh Master Leigh, you’ll not tell? There’s no harm done, and Miss Dolly’s none the worse, and we’ll never be so silly again. Miss Mary, my dear, do ask Master Leigh not to tell.”

Mary could not bear to see any one cry, least of all a big person. Her lips began to quiver, and she looked timidly at her brother.

“Leigh,” she began.

And Leigh too was very tender-hearted. But both of them, and Artie too, felt deep down in their hearts that however sorry they might be for Emma they were not doing right in giving in to her.

They did promise not to tell, however; and then the little party turned homewards in very low spirits, though they had such great reason for thankfulness that their dear little sister was not hurt.

They hardly spoke all the way; and Dolly, by this time, tired out by all her adventures, had fallen fast asleep.

Chapter Fourteen.
Happy Again

It was two or three days after Fuzzy’s running away with the perambulator that nurse, who was now quite well again, came in to breakfast in the nursery with a grave face, and without, as usual, Baby Dolly in her arms.

“Where’s baby?” said Leigh; and Mary, who was deeply engaged with her bowl of bread-and-milk, looked up.

“Where’s Baby Dolly, nursie?” she said, in turn.

“In bed,” nurse answered, “in bed and fast asleep. She’s had a bad night, and she only fell really asleep when it was about time for getting up. So of course I didn’t wake her.”

“Is she ill?” asked Leigh; and both he, and Mary and Artie, looked at nurse so anxiously that she felt sorry for them.

“I hope not,” she said. “I hope she’ll be all right when she wakes up. The best and strongest of babies have their little turns. Don’t look so troubled, my dears.”

Just then Emma, who had had her breakfast before, came into the room, and was crossing to the door which led into the night-nursery, when she was stopped.

“I’ll tidy the room myself this morning, Emma,” said nurse. “I don’t want any one to go in. Miss Dolly’s not very well.”

“She’s been very cross this day or two, crying enough to make herself ill. You spoil her, nurse, that’s what I say,” said Emma, pertly.

Nurse made no reply, except to repeat her orders to Emma not to enter the bedroom.

As soon as breakfast was over, the three children – Artie and Mary with clean pinafores, and all with smoothed hair and nicely-washed hands – went downstairs as usual to the dining-room for prayers. But to their surprise their mamma was not there, nor was nurse. They did not wonder much about nurse, however, for they knew some one would have to stay beside baby in case she woke.

But to-day several things seemed strange and different from usual. Instead of going up to the nursery again their father told them they were all to go to the little study where Leigh and Artie did their lessons with their tutor.

“For baby must not be disturbed,” he said, “and if you were all playing in the nursery the noise would go through to the other room.”

“Mayn’t I go up to the nursery, papa dear?” asked Mary. “Just me. I’d be kite quiet. I don’t like to be away from nursie and baby,” and her voice sounded as if she were going to cry. “And I don’t know what to do when Mr Fibbetts comes.”

“Mr Phillips,” said papa. “You’re getting too big to talk so babyishly, Mary. And you mustn’t be selfish, my dear. If you can play quietly in the nursery you can play quietly in the study, or perhaps I’ll send Emma to take you out a little.”

“I don’t want Emma. I want mamma, and nursie and Dolly,” said Mary.

She thought her papa was rather “c’oss,” and she was not used to his being the least cross. And she was unhappy about baby; and deep down in her heart was a sort of fear she tried not to think about. Mary had never been so unhappy in all her life before.

The fear was not in her heart only. Leigh and Artie were feeling just the same. At first when they found themselves alone in the study they all three tried to pretend there was nothing the matter. They hid away the fear, and covered it up, and told it to go to sleep. But fears like that are very troublesome. They won’t go to sleep; just as we think we have got them safely shut in and all seems still, up they jump again, and there they are knocking at the door, not only of our hearts, but of our consciences.

“You have done wrong,” they say, “and wrongdoing brings trouble.”

And after a while the two little brothers and their sister left off pretending. They sat down close together on the hearthrug and looked at each other.

“Leigh,” said Artie, in a strange hushed sort of voice, “do you think Baby Dolly’s very ill?”

Mary did not speak; but she looked up in Leigh’s face, so that he turned his head away.

“How should I know?” he said roughly.

“You heard as much as I did. Babies are often ill.”

But both the others knew quite well that he was just as unhappy as they were.

“Oh, Leigh,” said Mary at last, her voice trembling, “do you think it can be ’cos of – ” but here she stopped.

Leigh turned round sharply. His face was white, but still he tried to be angry.

“Why can’t you speak out, you silly girl?” he said. “Why don’t you say what you mean? – that I’ve made her ill by the tumbling out of the perambulator? Nonsense, she fell on the top of Janie Perry, and Janie said she came quite softly. How could it have hurt her?”

“I don’t know,” said Mary, but she spoke very sadly.

“There’s was a little boy,” began Artie, “wot fell out of a winder, and he jumped up and said he wasn’t hurt, but then he was killed.”

“What do you mean?” said Leigh. “How was he killed if he wasn’t hurt?”

“I mean he died soon,” said Artie. “P’raps it was the next day. He was hurt inside his head though it wasn’t blooding outside.”

“And babies are so dellykid,” said Mary.

Leigh gave a sort of angry grunt, something between a sob and a scold. Certainly Mary and Artie were not comforting. But did he deserve comforting? It was true he had meant no harm at all to dear baby. He had thought it would be fun for her as well as for the others and himself – most for himself, I am afraid – if Fuzz could be taught to draw her carriage quite well, like the dogs papa had told them about. But, had it been right to do it secretly, without anybody’s leave? He had turned it and twisted it so in his mind that he had persuaded himself he only wanted to “surprise” everybody, for one reason; and for another, that nurse was so silly and fussy; and for still another, that there was no need to tease papa and mamma about every little plan for amusing themselves that he and the others made.

But now, somehow, none of these reasons seemed any good; they all slipped and melted away as if there was nothing real in them.

And then there was the second piece of concealment – the hiding about the accident. There was no good excuse for that. Leigh’s own first feelings had been to tell at once, and Janie Perry had trusted that he would. Why had he given in to Emma? Was it really out of pity for her and her mother; or was it partly – a good big “partly” – that he was afraid of being very much scolded himself? As he got to this point of his gloomy thoughts Leigh gave another groan; it was much more of a groan this time, as if he could not bear his own unhappiness.

Then, for he had covered up his eyes, he felt a little hand stealing round his neck – it was Mary.

“Oh, Leigh, dear poor Leigh,” she whispered. “I are so sorry for you, and I are so miderable.”

Leigh drew the trembling, quivering little creature to him, and left off trying to keep up. Artie crept near to them, and they all cried together.

Then Leigh started up.

“I’ll go and tell now,” he said, “now, this minute. It’s been all my fault, and I don’t care what Emma says, nor how I’m scolded. P’raps, p’raps, the doctor’ll be able to do something, even if her head is hurt inside the way that boy’s was.”

He kissed the two others and started off. He seemed away a long time; but, alas! when he came back there was no look of comfort or hope in his face. It was only very white, and his eyes very red.

“It’s no good,” he said, flinging himself down on a chair and bursting out crying. “It’s no good. That’s my punishment. Now that I want to tell I can’t.”

Mary and Artie could not understand.

“Was you too f’ightened, poor Leigh?” said Mary. “Shall I go?”

“No, no, it’s not about me. It’s this way. Papa’s gone, ever so long ago. He’s gone to the station, and I think he was going to see the doctor on the way. And mamma and nurse are shut up in the night-nursery with baby, not to be disturbed by nobody,” said Leigh, forgetting his grammar in his distress. “I saw Emma, but she’s no good, she’d only tell stories to keep herself from being scolded. But I do think she looks frightened about baby. Oh dear, what shall I do? Darling Baby Dolly, and it’s all my fault. I see it now;” and Leigh flung himself on to the floor and burst out sobbing again.

“Leigh, Leigh, poor Leigh,” said Mary and Artie together.

“Mr Fibbetts will be coming,” said Mary in a moment, “and then I’ll have to go out with Emma. Oh, I don’t want to go.”

Leigh looked up.

“Mr Phillips won’t be coming,” he said, “I forgot. Everything’s been so strange to-day. It’s Saturday, Mary. He doesn’t come on Saturdays. You shan’t go out with Emma if you don’t want. She’s a untrue bad girl; it’s a good deal her fault, though she’s not been half so wicked as me.”

“You’ve not been wicked, dear Leigh. You didn’t mean any harm,” sobbed Mary.

“And we’ve all been naughty for not telling,” added Artie.

“Oh, but what are we to do?” cried Leigh again. “The doctor’ll be coming and he won’t know, and p’raps he’ll give Dolly the wrong medicines with not knowing, and baby will get worser and worser. Oh, what shall we do?”

“I know,” said Mary, in a clear, decided voice, which made both her brothers look at her in surprise. “We’ll hide somewhere, so that we can jump out when the doctor passes and tell him. So then he must know what to do for Dolly. Where shall we hide, Leigh?”

Leigh stopped crying to consider.

“Near the lodge would be best,” he said. “The bushes are thick, and he must pass there. But it’s cold, Mary, and we can’t possibly go upstairs to get your things. Artie and I have got our caps and comforters in the hall. And if we left you here Emma would find you.”

“No, no,” said Mary, dancing about in her eagerness, “don’t leave me here, Leigh. There’s shawls in the hall. Can’t you wrap me up in one of them? I’ll be quite good. I won’t fuss about at all.”

So it was settled. The three set off as silently as they could to the hall, where they caught up the best wraps they could find. Then they made their way through the big drawing-room, which opened into a conservatory, out by a side path to the drive.

Five minutes after they had left the study Emma came to look for them, but found the birds flown. She took no further trouble; for, to tell the truth, she was not sorry to keep out of the children’s way; her own conscience was not at all at rest, and she had made up her mind to write to her mother asking for her to come home at once.

Though it was two miles to the village it did not take long to drive there, and Mr Bertram luckily caught Mr Wiseman the doctor just as he was starting on his rounds.

Mr Wiseman was driving a young horse; he went well, but he was rather timid, and apt to shy when anything startled him. The lodge gates were open; as the children’s papa had told the woman that the doctor would be coming, so he drove in without stopping. But, oh dear! Scarcely had he got a few yards up the avenue before there was a great fuss. The young horse was dancing and shaking with fear, and if the groom had not jumped down and got to his head more quickly than it takes me to tell it, who knows what might not have happened.

What had frightened him so?

Three funny-looking little figures had sprung out from among the bushes, calling out in eager but melancholy tones —

“Mr Wiseman, Mr Wiseman, please stop. Oh please stop.”

These were Leigh and Artie, one with an old squashy wide-awake of papa’s, that was much too big for him, the other with a cloth deer-stalker cap which made him look like a Laplander, for in their hurry they had not been able to find their own things.

And Mary, funniest of all, with a shawl mamma used on the lawn, all huddled up round her, and the fringes trailing elegantly behind. For half a minute the doctor thought they were gypsy children from the van on the common.

But then again came the cry —

“Oh, Mr Wiseman, please stay,” and his quick eye saw that all the little faces were swollen and tear-stained. Something must be very wrong.

“The baby,” he thought to himself, “poor little woman. Surely nothing worse has happened to her since I saw Mr Bertram? They could never have sent the children to tell me – ”

He jumped down, stopping an instant to pat his frightened horse. But he had not the heart to scold the children for startling poor Paddy so.

“What is the matter, my dear children?” he said kindly.

The children knew Mr Wiseman well, and were not afraid of him, still it was not easy to get the story clearly from them. The doctor saw he must be patient, and as soon as he heard baby’s name he felt that the matter might be serious, and by careful questioning he at last understood the whole. In his heart he did not feel very uneasy, for little Dolly’s father had told him in what way she seemed ill, and it was not the kind of illness that could have come from a fall. But to the children he was very grave, for he thought it most wrong of them, Leigh especially of course, not to have told exactly what had happened; and he thought, too, that the sooner the under-nurse was sent away the better.

“I don’t think,” he said, “I don’t think I need to tell you how wrong you have been. There is no fear, Leigh, of your ever trying anything of the kind again without leave. And even you two little ones are old enough to know you should not have kept the accident a secret. But I must hurry on to see poor baby as quickly as possible. Come back to the house now, for it is too cold for you to be standing about, and as soon as I can I will let you know how your little sister is. All you can do now is to be as good as possible, and give no trouble while she is ill, even if your mamma and nurse cannot be with you at all.”