rely cried, but always did the thing thoroughly
when he did begin.

"Shall we have to go somewhere else for to-night, I wonder, or what
shall we do?" Sylvia went on, drawing herself up and setting her teeth
together until she could conquer that weak desire for tears, which would
be sure to lower her dreadfully in the eyes of the boys and would do no
good at all. "The house seemed embarrassingly small at first, but now
that it is a stranger who is master, and not Father at all, why, the
whole thing is impossible."

"We can sleep in and under the wagon, as we have done before; but Rupert
can't, so I guess that we had better wait and see what Nealie decides is
best," replied Rumple. But this was met with a whimper of protest from
Ducky, who demanded to be put to bed somewhere at once.

"Could we not put Ducky on a mattress in the wagon, with Don and
Billykins?" suggested Sylvia. "They would be quite safe and comfortable
there, because the wagon is in enclosed ground and so close to the house
also. Then you and I can wait round here to help if we are wanted."

"Brave old Syllie, I thought that you would find a way out of the
muddle!" cried Rumple, giving her an approving pat on the back, and then
he called to Don to come and help him carry a mattress out to the
wagon, a difficult feat in the dark, but one which was safely
accomplished after some struggles, a few bruises, and one fall that was
happily not a serious one.

Then Sylvia carried Ducky out to the wagon and handed her up to Rumple,
who stowed her inside on the mattress, bidding the two small boys lie
down one on each side of her, and the three were sound asleep before
Sylvia and Rumple had gone back to the house.

They were standing on the threshold of the dark little room, and
wondering what they had better do next, when the door of the sleeping
chamber opened and Nealie came out.

"Sylvia, where are you?" she cried, with such misery in her voice that
Sylvia gave a groan of real dismay.

"What is the matter?" asked Rumple sharply. Of course he was solely to
blame for all this wretched business, he told himself, as none of these
disasters could have happened if he had not forgotten to post that
letter.

"Rupert is very, very ill, Dr. Plumstead says, and we must make a fire
at once and boil water for some kind of fomentations. Could you and
Rumple do that while I help the doctor in the bedroom?"

"Of course we can. I know where the firewood is," said Rum