alked for talking's sake, in a carneying tone, while her bosom
still heaved from the storm of battle.

Mrs. Royle attempted a ribald laugh, but it met with no success, and
her voice died down under a disapproving hush.

Mrs. Clerihew talked on, gaining confidence. She crimped
beautifully, and this was the more remarkable because (as Corona
noted) her hand shook all the while.

In short, the child had, as she put it, quite a good time.

When it was time to be going she thanked Mrs. Clerihew very prettily,
and walked back with Brother Copas to her father's room. They found
Nurse Branscome there and the table already laid for tea; there was a
plum cake, too.

After tea Branny told them all very gravely that this must be her
last visit. She was giving over the care of Corona's father
to Nurse Turner, whose "case" it had really been from the first.
She explained that the nurses, unless work were extra heavy, had to
take their patients in a certain order, by what she called a _rota_.

"But he's bettering every day now, so I don't mind." She nodded
cheerfully towards Brother Bonaday, and then, seeing that Corona's
face was woebegone, she added: "But you will often be running across
to the Nunnery to see me. Besides, I've brought a small parting gift
to console you."

She unwrapped a paper parcel, and held out a black boy-doll, a real
Golliwog, with white shirt buttons for eyes and hair of black Berlin
wool.

"Oh, Branny!"

Corona, after holding the Golliwog a moment in outstretched hands,
strained it to her breast.

"Oh, Branny! And till this moment I didn't know how much I've wanted
him!"

CHAPTER XIV.

BROTHER COPAS ON THE HOUSE OF LORDS.

All love being a mystery, I see no reason to speculate how or why it
came to pass that Corona, who already possessed two pink and waxen
girl-dolls, and treated them with the merest contempt, took this
black manikin of a Golliwog straight to her heart to share its
innermost confidences.

It happened so, and there's no more to be said. Next morning Corona
paid an early call at the Nunnery.

"I'm afraid," she said in her best society manner, "this is a
perfeckly ridiklous hour. But you are responsible for Timothy in a
way, aren't you?"

"Timothy?" echoed Nurse Branscome.

"Oh, I forgot!" Corona patted the red-trousered legs of the
Golliwog, which she held, not as little girls usually hold dolls, but
tucked away under her armpit. "Timothy's his name, th