d
ham and egg--I cracked the top of the egg and got it ready--and then the
muffin and marmalade, my nice time began. I squatted at the foot of the
bed, near enough to reach mums anything she wanted, and then we talked.

We talk of lots of things when we're alone like that. Mums tells me of
anything that's on her mind, and I comfort her up a bit. Of course we
talked about the unlucky brooch, and about Anne, and how easily she and
Serry might have been run over, or something like that.

'Yes, indeed,' said mums, 'I often think we're not half thankful enough
for the misfortunes that _don't_ happen.'

Just then there came a knock at the door.

'Bother!' thought I. I don't think I _said_ it, for mums thinks it's
such an ugly word.

It was Rowley again.

'Your letters, ma'am,' she said. 'They were forgotten when I brought up
the tray.'

There were only three. Two were nothing particular--accounts or
something. But the third was in a strange handwriting, and mums opened
it quickly.

'It's from Lady Nearn,' she said. 'I think it was rather me to write to
her. It's very kind of her, but----'

She began reading it, and her face got very grave.

'Do leave it till you've finished your breakfast, mums,' I said. 'You've
not even finished the first course.'

But she scarcely listened to me.

'Oh, Jack!' she said, 'I'm afraid we haven't got to the end of the
troubles caused by poor gran's diamonds yet. Oh dear, I shall be so
uneasy for some days to come!'

I couldn't make out what she meant, and when she saw my puzzled face she
went on to explain. Lady Nearn's letter was very kind, but she thought
it right to tell mother that Anne and Serena had run into some risk by
coming to her house the night before, for it was quite decided that
three of her children had got whooping-cough. Not the two they had seen;
at least she still _hoped_ they--the twins--wouldn't get it, for they
were very delicate, and they had been separated from the others. But
still there was no telling how infection might be caught, and she
advised mother to be prepared for her little girls having perhaps got
the illness.

Mums did look worried.

'It's a most tiresome and trying thing,' she said; 'and neither Hebe nor
Maud is very strong. Perhaps I shouldn't have told you, Jack. You must
be sure not to speak of it to any of them.'

I promised, of course. And then poor mums, instead of having a nice
rest, declared she must get up at once, and go off