before I could speak a roar of applause had greeted
Bobby as he limped on in his twelve hats, crying, "Oh tear, oh tear!
dish ish the tarkest night I ever shaw."

But either we acted unusually well, or our audience was exceptionally
kind, for it applauded everything and everybody till the curtain fell.

* * * * *

"Behind the scenes" is always a place of confusion after amateur
theatricals; at least it used to be with us. We ran hither and
thither, lost our every-day shoes, washed the paint from our faces,
and mislaid any number of towels, and combs, and brushes, ate supper
by snatches, congratulated ourselves on a successful evening, and were
kissed all around by Granny, who came behind the scenes for the
purpose.

All was over, and the guests were gone, when I gave an invitation to
the others to come and make lemon-brew over my bedroom fire as an
appropriate concluding festivity. (It had been suggested by Bobby.) I
had not seen Philip for some time, but we were all astonished to hear
that he had gone out. We kept his "brew" hot for him, and Charles and
Bobby were both nodding--though they stoutly refused to go to
bed,--when his step sounded in the corridor, and he knocked and came
hastily in.

Everybody roused up.

"Oh, Philip, we've been wondering where you were! Here's your brew,
and we've each kept a little drop, to drink your good health."

("Mine is _all_ pips," observed Bobby as a parenthesis.) But Philip
was evidently thinking of something else.

"Isobel," he said, standing by the table, as if he were making a
speech, "I shall never forget your coming after me to-day. I told you
you had the temper of an angel."

"So did I," said Alice.

"Hear! hear!" said Bobby, who was sucking his pips one by one and
laying them by--"to plant in a pot," as he afterwards explained.

"You not only saved the theatricals," continued Philip, "you saved my
life I believe."

No "situation" in the play had been half so startling as this. We
remained open-mouthed and silent, whilst Philip sat down as if he were
tired, and rested his head on his hands, which were dirty, and stained
with something red.

"Haven't you heard about the accident?" he asked.

We all said "No."

"The 4.15 ran into the express where the lines cross, you know.
Isobel, _there were only two first-class carriages, and everybody in
them was killed but one man_. They have taken both his legs off, and
he's not expect