orothy and Nancy were standing before a blazing fire in the
sitting-room at the stone house, recounting the beauties of the sky, the
branches fringed with glittering icicles, the squirrels that raced
across the hard crust of snow, and indeed, every lovely bit of road or
forest which they had seen, Arabella, shivering as she hurried along,
saw the bright lights, and rushed past the great gate, across the avenue
and in at her own driveway. She hoped that every one would be talking
when she entered. She intended to join in the conversation, and she
thought if she could manage to talk very, _very_ fast, Aunt Matilda
might not ask where she had been. But she did. Arabella had removed
her hat and cloak, and trying very hard to stop shivering, she pushed
aside the portiere, and stood in the glow of the shaded lamp.

"Warmer weather to-morrow, the paper says, and I guess we shall all be
glad to have it," Aunt Matilda was saying.

"It w-would be f-fine to h-h-have it w-w-warmer," said Arabella, her
teeth chattering so that she thought every one must hear them rattle.

Over her paper Aunt Matilda's bright eyes peered at the little girl who
shivered in spite of her effort to stand very still.

"Where have you been, Arabella? You're chilled through. I say, where
have you been?"

"I've just taken quite a long walk," Arabella replied. "If you've
taken a long walk as late as this in the afternoon, you've come some
distance. Have you been spending this whole afternoon at that Lavine
girl's house?"

"No'm," said Arabella, "I haven't been in her house _any_ of the
afternoon; I've been out-of-doors."

Aunt Matilda threw up her hands in amazement, as if a number of hours in
the open air ought to have actually killed Arabella, whereas, she really
was alive, but exceedingly chilly.

Then the very thing happened which Arabella had told Patricia would
happen.

Aunt Matilda had her old-fashioned notions regarding the care of
children, and Arabella was sent to bed, packed in blankets, after having
drank a pint bowl full of the worst-tasting herb tea which Aunt Matilda
had ever brewed. She had thought that she might drink half of it, and
then throw the rest away, but as if guessing her intention, Aunt Matilda
stood close beside her to be sure that not a drop was wasted.

"It's no use to make such an outrageous face, Arabella," she remarked,
"for the worse it tastes the more good it's _sure_ to do."

"But I'd 'most rather have a cold