younger sister observed, dropping
into a chair with a long sigh.

"Yes; and the work has gone better than I had hoped," declared Celia,
whisking a tinful of plump rolls into the oven. "It's really fun."

"I'm glad you like it."

"Poor child," said Celia, pausing to glance at the dejected figure in
the chair, its dark curls a riot of disorder, a smudge of black upon its
forehead, and its pinafore disreputable with frequent use as a duster,
"I gave you too much to do! Didn't I hear you in Delia's room? You
needn't have touched that to-day."

"Wanted to get through with it. Delia may be a good cook, but she left a
mess of a closet up-stairs. Please give me one of those warm cookies.
I'm so used up and hungry I can't wait for supper."

"Justin came in half an hour ago so famished there wouldn't have been a
cookie left if I hadn't filled him up with a banana. By the way, I sent
him down cellar after some peach pickles, and I haven't seen him since.
I'll run down and get some. I've hot rolls and honey for supper, and
Lanse always wants peach pickles with that combination."

Celia took a bowl from the cupboard, opened the cellar door and started
down, turning on the second step to say:

"Go and take a bath and put on a fresh frock; you won't feel half so
tired. Wear the scarlet waist, will you? I want things particularly
bright and cheery to-night, for I know Lanse will come home fagged with
the new work. Mrs. Laurier sent over some red carnations. I've put them
in the middle of the table; they look ever so pretty. I'm going to----"

What she intended to do Celia never told, if she ever afterward
remembered. What she did do was to slip upon the third step of the steep
stairway, and, with no outcry whatever, go plunging heavily to the
bottom.

* * * * *

CHAPTER III

"Celia--Celia--are you hurt?" cried Charlotte, and dashed down the
stairs.

There was no answer. With trembling hands she felt for her sister's
head. It lay close against the cellar wall, and she instantly understood
that Celia must be unconscious. But whether there might be more to be
feared than unconsciousness she could not tell in the dark. Her first
thought was to get a light, the next that she must have help at once.

She rushed up the stairs, calling Jeff and Justin, but neither boy was
to be found. Then she ran to the telephone, with the idea of summoning
one of the suburban physicians, but turned asid