let me see the knife, Babs;
I thought I had lost it."

"No, it was in the back of your cabinet, just under all the peacock's
feathers. Wasn't the earwig glad when you saved her?"

"Yes," said Judy, smiling, "didn't she run home fast to her family? She
was sticking in the wood and couldn't get out, poor darling, but my dear
little knife cut the wood away and then she ran home. Oh, didn't she go
fast!"

"Yes, didn't she?" said Babs, laughing. "I think earwigs are such
_sweet_ little animals, don't you, Judy?"

"Insects, you mean," said Judy. "Oh, yes, I love them special because
most people hate the poor dears."

"What are you drawing, Judy? What a queer, queer picture!"

"I'm going to call it 'Where the nasty fairies live,'" said Judy, "but I
haven't finished it. Babs, how long is it since Hilda went away?"

"Weeks, and weeks, and weeks," replied Babs. "I has almost forgotten how
long."

"Years and years, you mean," said Judy.

The little pink flush of excitement faded out of her cheeks, her eyes
looked hollow, the shadow under them grew darker than ever.

There came a rush along the passage, and Aunt Marjorie, puffing with
the haste she had used, but trying to walk slowly and to speak calmly,
entered the room.

"Judy, my darling," she said, "I have very good news for you."

"For me," said Judy, flushing and paling almost in the same moment.

"Yes, my dear little pet, very nice news. Your darling Hilda is coming."

"Aunt Maggie!"

"Yes, here's a telegram from her. She says in it, '_Tell Judy to expect
me at ten to-night_.' Why, my darling, how white you are! Babs, run and
fetch me those smelling-salts. Now, Judy, just one whiff. Ah, now you're
better."

"Yes, auntie, much, much, _much_ better. I am only awfully happy."

Judy smiled, and the tears rushed to her eyes; her little thin hand
trembled, she tried to push her drawing materials away.

"Please may I have the telegram?" she asked.

"Of course you may, my darling. Oh, and here comes kind Miss Mills with
your chicken-broth. Just the thing to set you up. Drink it off, dear.
Miss Mills, our sweet Hilda is coming to-night. I have just had a
telegram, she'll be here about ten."

"Who's to meet her?" asked Miss Mills. "You forget that there are no
horses in the stables now, and no carriage in the coach-house."

"I did forget," said Aunt Marjorie. "I must send a message to Stephens
to take a fly to the station."

"I'll go and tell him as soon a