ir to such a wicked waste as it would be if they
left all that fine food to spoil, or for the guinea-hen to gobble.

"The guinea-hen eats a lot. She eats kittenpillars right down whole;"
pensively observed Sheba, when she had reached this stage of thought.

"She shan't eat this, then!" declared Dorcas, promptly sitting down
and dividing with great care all this delectable treat.

"Why, little ones, what are you doing? Why aren't you back yonder with
the rest? I don't see Saint Augustine there, either. Do you know where
he is?"

As this simple question interrupted them the conscience-stricken
children began to cry. One glance into their mother's troubled face
had aroused all their love for her and a sense of their own
selfishness.

"Why, babies dear, what's the matter? Have you hurt yourselves?"

"Yes, mamma, we have. We've hurted the very insides of us, in the
place where mutton-taller can't reach an' you can't kiss it well
again. Your dinner was sent to you and--and--_we've et it up_!"

Dorcas delivered herself of this statement in a defiant attitude, her
arms folded behind her, but her little breast heaving. And she could
scarcely believe her own ears when the only reprimand she received
was:

"Say 'eaten,' darling, not 'et.' I do wonder where my boy is! In some
mischief, I fear, the precious little scamp!"

But she was still wondering when that day's sun went down.

CHAPTER XIII.

WHAT LAY UNDER THE WALKING FERN.

For once Gerald was neglected, and for once he was glad of it. Mrs.
Stillwell and Jim had both come in, on the afternoon before, in a high
state of excitement. They had demanded of him if he had seen Saint
Augustine, the mischievous child with the peculiar name. He had
retorted, angrily, that of course he had seen nobody, neither child
nor grown-up. He might lie there and die for all anybody would bother!
He'd get up, he declared he would, dress and go away at once. Never
before had he stayed in such a wretched place as this, and yes, he
surely would get up and leave. If he could find his own clothes. Did
anybody know where his clothes were?

Even in the midst of her terrible anxiety, his faithful nurse and
hostess had smiled, encouragingly, saying:

"You couldn't do better. When a sick person gets to your state of mind
and nerves, he's usually well enough to go out. All you brought with
you is in that parcel under the bed. You can leave Corny's
shirt--anywhere."

She caught her