about Aunt Enticknapp, and yet
the more she thought of it the more she felt she must try to do so--even
if she had to ask her mother, which she was afraid to do, for Mother was
always so occupied and anxious about Freddie that Susan's wants and
wonders had to give way, or be kept to herself, and this she thought
quite natural because Freddie was ill.

After breakfast she took a doll, a small work-box, and a tattered book,
and settled herself quietly in her favourite corner; this was in
Freddie's room, between the back of his couch and the wall, and, though
rather dark, very snug and private, and not too retired for her to see
all that went on. From here she could watch her mother as she came in
and out, and judge when it would be best to speak to her. Not yet
evidently. Mother's face looked full of worry and business this
morning, and if she sat down for one minute a maid-servant would be sure
to appear with, "If you please, ma'am," and then she would have to go
away again. Susan sighed as she pushed her sticky needle in and out the
doll's frock she was making. Her mind was full of Aunt Enticknapp; if
she was Mother's aunt she must, of course, be very very old. Very old
ladies always looked cross, and were nearly always deaf. Ought she to
call her "aunt" when she spoke to her? What was her other name?
Perhaps Freddie could tell her that, at any rate! She stood up and
looked at him over the back of the sofa--there he was, reading as usual,
with a frown on his white forehead, and all his thick black hair pushed
up by his impatient hand. Freddie was ten, two years older than Susan;
he had never been able to run about and play like other boys, and her
earliest recollection of him was that he was always lying on his back,
and always reading. The books he liked best were those that had plenty
of fighting and hunting and hardships in them. He was reading now a
tale of the Coral Islands, and she knew quite well that he would not
like to be disturbed. He was not always good-tempered, but Mother had
told Susan that she ought to be patient with him because he was so often
in pain. She stood there with her doll under her arm staring
thoughtfully at him, and at last he turned a page.

"Freddie!" she said very quickly, so that he might not have time to get
interested again. "What do you think I ought to call her?"

Freddie turned his great black eyes upon her with a puzzled and rather
vexed look in them; it was a lon