Have you ever done it? Then you will know how they felt; how their small hearts were thumping loudly; how to the tips of their toes and fingers they were trembling with that wonderful joyful excitement of the unknown in front of them.

They were just two small girls, very slim, with long legs and short frocks—holland frocks—smocked across their chests, and they wore limp sunburnt straw hats which kept the sun out of their eyes, for it was a very hot day in June.

Freda was the elder of the two; she had red-golden hair, which was plaited in a long pigtail, and a freckled face, blue eyes, and a delicate little mouth and nose, with a very round determined chin. She was always intensely earnest in everything that she did; untiring in schemes that would unite pleasure with usefulness—as, when she locked Purling, the old butler, into his pantry, and left him there for an hour, she told Daffy it would be so good for him to be obliged to sit still and rest, for he had told her how his legs ached going up and down stairs; and when Nurse had asked her how she could take pleasure in being so naughty, she retorted:

"If it rests Purling and pleases me, those are two good things, not naughty, that I've done!"

Daffy was very fair and fragile-looking. She had a way of dancing along on the tips of her toes, and darting here and there like a bright dragon-fly, and seemed to grown-up people as if she tried just to keep out of their reach. She had a little pale face and soft flaxen hair. Her eyes were brown, with heavy fringed lashes. She was rarely unhappy, and treated most things that happened to her in a very calm unruffled way. Freda was hot-tempered, but nothing upset Daffy's sweetness of outlook. She was always ready to follow Freda's lead.

The children had only just come to live in their father's big country house, which had been let for some years, and they could not remember staying in it before, as they were quite tiny children when they had done so. Their home was in London. Their father had been a busy politician, but now had volunteered for the War, and had gone out to Egypt in the Yeomanry. Their mother loved town and was always busy, either entertaining company in her own house or enjoying it elsewhere. The children saw very little of her.

They had all had whooping-cough, and though now quite well, the doctor advised their mother to send them into the country for the summer; and as the Hall was empty, the tenant having gone to the War, Mrs. Harrington sent them there in charge of their old nurse.

Freda and Daffy were delighted with their country home, but a lot of things about it puzzled them.

It was now about three o'clock in the afternoon. They had explored every corner in the big gardens surrounding the house. A short time before, they had wandered along a straight path in a belt of fir-wood, which had led them, after a long walk, up to a brick wall and a closed door. The door had evidently not been opened for years; ivy had grown over it. Of course they immediately wanted to know what was on the other side. The keyhole was filled with rust and dirt. With the help of a small pocket-knife Freda cleared it out, then she applied one of her blue eyes to it and uttered a low cry of ecstasy.

"Oh, Daffy, it's a garden—a lovely one! Oh, such roses! Such flowers!"

"Let me look."

But Daffy had to wait for some minutes before she had her turn at the keyhole.

"I see a white rabbit on the grass," she said. "Oh, Freda, it's an enchanted garden! Does it belong to us?"

"It ought to," said Freda, looking at the door with sadness. "This is our door, Daffy. It has no business to be locked away from us."

"But it's a long way from the house."

"That doesn't matter a bit. The lodge gate is miles away, but it belongs—"

"Shall we climb over the wall?"

Both children looked up at the old wall above them—a wall that was fully ten feet high.

"No; but we can follow the wall along till we come to another door. There must be one for people to get in and out. Come on!"

Through the fir plantation they went, keeping as close to the wall as they could, though there was a mass of briers and undergrowth for some distance along that prevented them touching it. Eventually they squeezed through some wire railings and got out into the open park. Here a grass-grown ditch was the only obstacle between them and the wall.

"What a big garden it must be inside!" sighed Daffy.

And then it was that Freda came upon the Great Discovery, and she gave a little scream as she did so. It was a little green-painted wooden door only about three feet high. It was on the other side of the ditch. In a moment both children were over the ditch trying to turn the handle, and, to their joy and delight, it turned. There was no lock or bolt, and after a little tugging and pushing they got it open.

"It's like the door in 'Alice in Wonderland!'" gasped Freda. "Oh, look, Daffy, look! There's somebody there!"

They were kneeling down now with beating hearts. Both heads were close together, and eyes taking in all that there was to be seen. A garden indeed, with a cool green lawn, and rose-covered arches, and flowers of every colour crowding each other out of the beds. In the distance, a low, grey house with striped green-and-white sun-blinds, and under a shady tree on the lawn a man in a low hammock chair. He was smoking. He had cushions under his head, and his feet were resting on a long stool; but he had an easel in front of him, and he was either painting or drawing.

"Daffy, let's crawl through! We must! We'll go and ask him who he is."

To speak was to act with Freda. She crammed her battered hat down on her head and crawled through the little door, Daffy following her. Then they stood up and advanced along the gravel path.

"This is an adventure!" whispered Daffy.

But Freda, with eager shining eyes, sped along without a word. The man was too engrossed with his occupation to look up, and it was only when Freda spoke that he turned wondering eyes upon them.

"Did you leave the door open on purpose? Did you expect us to find it one day? And will you tell us why it is so little? Is it for the fairies?"

The man had kind eyes; they saw that at once. He was no ogre or gloomy hermit. But he looked ill, and they saw that crutches were by his side.

"Ah," he said, "that's my secret, But I didn't have it made for you."

"Why is the gate locked, the proper gate belonging to us?" asked Freda.

Daffy had quietly glided round to the back of his chair.

"Oh!" she said, in her soft little voice. "What a darling little fairy girl! She's swinging from an apple-tree bough, Freda. Come and see!"

Freda stepped up closer.

"So she is! Who is she?"

"She's my Dreamikins."

"Is she a real little girl, or just a paper one?"

"She's as real as they're made. What a pity she wasn't here to see you crawling through that little door?"

"Did you see us?"

"Yes, but I pretended not to, so that I shouldn't scare you away."

"Oh, we were much too excited to go back, much!"

"Much!" echoed Daffy from behind. "We never do go back when we're finding out things."

"May we sit down and talk to you?" asked Freda; but she dropped down on the grass as she spoke. "We're simply dying to talk to somebody sensible. I s'pose you know we live the other side of your wall."

The man nodded.

"I guess that. Now we'll play the game properly. You must tell me about yourselves and I'll tell you about ourselves. Who will begin?"

"You," cried both the little girls at once.

So he began:

"My name is Fibo. That is what Dreamikins calls me, and if we're going to be friends you can call me so too."

"But you weren't christened Fibo?" said Freda.

"I was christened Augustus Arnold. Do you like that better?"

"Why does she call you Fibo?" inquired Daffy.

She had been dancing up and down lightly on her toes; now she stood still, and regarded the strange man gravely.

"Dreamikins and I have a way of naming our friends as we like; and I was Mephibosheth to her—'lame on both feet,' but we shortened it to Fibo."

Daffy's eyes were full of pity.

"Tell us more," demanded Freda.

He waved his hand behind him.

"There's my house, and it's run by Mr. and Mrs. Daw and their daughter Carrie. And Drab the cat, and Grinder the dog, and Whiskers the white rabbit are my family; and I came here ten years ago."

"But Dreamikins—isn't she your family?" asked Freda.

He shook his head.

"She has a father and mother, and a home at Brighton and another in Scotland, and this is her other home, and the one she likes best. Dreamikins' mother is my sister. Now you know all about me."

"And we'll tell you about ourselves," said Freda eagerly. "We come from London, but we don't like it very well, because Dad is in Egypt, and Mums is doing all kinds of things in London that she never used to do before the War. And we got the whooping-cough, and Mums thinks we are too pale, so we've come down here to run wild, she says; but of course Nurse stops us doing that."

"Did you ever have a nurse?" demanded Daffy suddenly.

"Didn't I! What an old dear she was too!"

"Fancy having a nurse you could call an old dear!"

Freda looked quite shocked.

"Our nurse is the most important person in the whole world. If the King and Queen were to tell her they wanted to see us, she would say:

"'Not to-day, Your Majesty. When I see fit I will let you know.'"

Daffy gave a little chuckle.

"That's Nurse's favourite saying, 'When I see fit!' She's much more proud than kings and queens are."

"Yes," Freda went on; "so, you see, Nurse has brought us down here, and Purling, and Cook, and a few of the others have come too. Mr. Fibo, what is a 'purse-proud rich'?"

"A rich person who is proud of the money in his purse."

Freda nodded.

"Of course! That ridic'lous, disgusting boy who rides the butcher's horse had an argyment with me yesterday. I was sitting on the park wall when he came by, and my legs was—were on the road side, you know. He said we were that. Why, Daffy and me have never been rich in our lives! Why, I've only sevenpence and a farthing in my purse now; and how much have you, Daffy?"

"Fourpence halfpenny," said Daffy promptly; "and a penny belongs to the missionary box—I mean it has to go there."

"Why, Mr. Fibo, he said something about our big house; but it isn't our house at all! Daffy and me live in just a bit of it. The front stairs aren't ours even! Purling says we're not to go near them. We can't slide down the banisters or tobogg on a tea-tray down the stairs. You see, it's like this. Dad and Mums are to have all the big rooms downstairs when they come, and till then they're locked up. The bedrooms along the big passage belong to the housemaids. They say they won't have us messing up their rooms. Old Purling lives in the pantry—that's his part of the house; Mrs. Stilton has all the kitchen part of the house, and her dear little sitting-room, which she keeps us out of. And Daffy and me—we just have our day-nursery and our night-nursery, and the back stairs to go up and down. We're quite poor, you see. Only two rooms to live in, and those really belong to Nurse, she says. We haven't a single bit of room our very own."

"Except the corner," said Daffy, with twinkling eyes, "and the punishment chair."

"Have you ever sat in a chair," questioned Freda, turning her eager little face towards Fibo, "which is so small in the seat and high in the legs that you can't bend your back a tiny inch or you'll fall off?"

Fibo threw back his head and laughed aloud.

"We had one in our nursery when I was a boy. It was an heirloom then. I didn't think one was in existence now."

"Nurse found it in the nursery here. She sucked her lips when she saw it. She always sucks her lips when she's pleased. And we have to sit on it for half an hour when we're punished."

"I see that you are very unhappy children," said Fibo gravely; but his eyes were smiling in spite of his grave face.

Daffy pirouetted on her toes.

"We love it here," she said, "because we can be out of doors all day finding adventures."

"Like you," put in Freda—"you and this garden and the little door."

"Please let us see your pictures," said Daffy, stealing a little nearer to the invalid's chair.

He put down his hand and took up a portfolio from the grass.

"I'll show you what I have. They're going into a book very soon."

"Do you make books?"

"No, only the pictures in them."

They hung over his chair in rapt enjoyment of all he showed them. There were fairies dancing and playing hide-and-seek amongst beautiful flowers, lying asleep under ferns and toadstools, climbing along a rainbow to get the pot of gold at the other end, and tickling children's cheeks with their tiny fingers as they lay asleep in their cots. There were dogs and cats, all going through wonderful adventures; and in nearly every picture there was a reproduction of Dreamikins. Daffy eagerly looked out for her, and when he turned over a sheet which showed her standing bareheaded with hair flying in the wind on the top of a hill, and hands stretched out upwards, Daffy exclaimed:

"I like that. Oh, I wish I had a picture like that! What is she doing?"

Fibo pointed to words printed underneath:

"I don't like earth, I want heaven!"

"Did she really say that?" asked Freda wonderingly.

"Yes, when her mother had punished her for running away."

Fibo smiled at the recollection as he spoke. Then he put the sketch into Daffy's hand.

"You can have it if you want it. This is only a copy. I have the original."

Daffy took the picture with a radiant face, then, with a quick little dart, she bent her head and kissed, as lightly as a butterfly might, the back of Fibo's right hand.

"That is my 'thank you' to the hand that did it!" she said.

Freda's gaze had wandered away from the sketches to the flowers.

"What lovely flowers you have! It looks like an enchanted garden. We have no flowers like these. Does Dreamikins pick them when she comes to stay with you?

"Yes; she knows all their histories, and which of them the fairies love best."

"Ah," said Daffy, with her cooing little laugh, "you believe in fairies! So do Freda and me, since we saw 'Peter Pan' in London, and I used to before when I was quite a baby. Nurse doesn't. She doesn't believe in any of the nice things, only in doses of medicines, and punishment, and bringing us up like 'little ladies' and 'good Christians.' I hate ladies and Freda hates good Christians, so Nurse and we argify about them."

"Oh, but I believe—heart and soul—in good Christians," said Fibo, leaning his head back and looking at Daffy with a kind smile; "what I don't believe in, are bad ones!"

"But I 'spect your good Christians are nicer than Nurse's. Why, I shouldn't wonder if you were one yourself!"

"Will Freda hate me if I am? But I can truthfully say I'm not a good one, only I have a try, and a hard try too, in that direction."

"How did you hurt your legs?" asked Freda quickly, wishing to change the conversation. "We want to know such a lot of things, and if we don't go back soon Nurse will be coming after us."

"Oh, how could she?" chuckled Daffy. "Why, I'm sure that Fibo made a little door like that on purpose to keep out nurses."

"Well now, I'll tell you about it. First about my legs. They were shot in the Boer War—that was before you were born, so, you see, I've had plenty of time to get accustomed to do without them. I came down to live here with my sister after my smash up, and then she got married and went away, and I liked my garden so much that I stayed on here."

"All alone?" said Daffy, with pity in her eyes.

"I wasn't very long alone. My sister soon brought Dreamikins to me, and she spends part of every year now with me. My sister promised me that I should share Dreamikins before she came into this world. She did not like leaving me to get married, but now she doesn't like leaving her husband to come and see me, and that's quite proper, you know. Well now, about the little door. Of course Dreamikins made me make it. She wanted to go out adventure-seeking in your park, and didn't want her nurse to come after her. So we made it nice and small."

"How lovely!" cried Freda. "But isn't it funny that Dreamikins should want to get out of this lovely garden when we want to get into it! When is she coming to see you again? Soon?"

"Not very soon."

"Then will you have us instead of her, and let us come in and out whenever we like?"

"Whenever you like," Fibo said at once.

"I'm afraid we shall have to be going," Freda said uneasily. "It will be tea-time. It always is tea-time when we want to enjoy ourselves."

"Run along, and get Nurse in a good temper, and then tell her where you've been. Everything must be above-board!"

The children said good-bye. Daffy danced backwards down the path, kissing her hand to him, then he called out:

"Pick a flower to take away with you, and give it to Nurse from me."

Freda stooped over a pink rose-bush.

"I'll pick the very biggest, and we'll make Nurse keep it on the table where we can smell it."

Daffy flitted from bed to bed, unable to make a selection. At last she picked a white Madonna lily.

Then they called out their thanks, and crept through the little green door. When they were once outside, they ran as fast as they could back to the house, and as they ran, Freda said:

"We've made a friend, Daffy,—quite a new one,—and we'll have him all the time we're here. I think it's been splendid!"

"Yes," said Daffy breathlessly; "if Nurse lets us keep him. But we can tell her that he's a grown-up, and won't lead us into mischief. And he's a cripple, and I believe Nurse's sister's husband's cousin is a cripple, so she ought to feel sorry."

A maid was ringing the big tea-bell out of the nursery window. They panted up the stairs, and Nurse met them at the nursery door.

"Where have you been all this time? Jane, make them tidy for tea at once. Master Bertie is ready."

She was fat and comfortable looking. In sickness or trouble, Nurse's lap was a perfect haven; but she had old-fashioned ideas of training children, and her training was Spartan-like in its severity.

Freda and Daffy were soon back in the nursery. It was a pleasant-looking room when the sun shone in at the windows. It was large and square, with dark oak-panelled walls and a low ceiling. Three windows looked into the park, and they had a view of the little village beyond clustering round an old square-towered church. Nurse was sitting in her big chair behind the tea-tray. The table was round. Bertie was in his high chair next Nurse. Freda and Daffy slipped into their chairs, then both held out their flowers to Nurse. Their faces were anxious as they did it. So much depended upon how she received their news!

[CHAPTER II]

The Tea-Party

"A VERY nice gentleman gave us these to give you, Nurse," said Freda.

"He's so ill, poor man!" sighed Daffy. "Just like your relation, Nurse. He made me think of him."

"Have you been worrying Mr. Trimmer?" asked Nurse, taking the rose from Freda's hand and sniffing it thoughtfully.

Mr. Trimmer was the head gardener. The children shook their heads.

"Oh dear no! Mr. Trimmer isn't without legs, and he chases us away from the greenhouses whenever he sees us," said Daffy. "Smell my lily, Nurse. He told us to choose any flower we liked for you."

"Now just speak up straight, and tell me what you've been doing."

Nurse eyed them sternly.

They told their story breathlessly, each interrupting the other in their anxiety to appease Nurse's gathering wrath.

"You mean to tell me you pushed yourselves into a strange garden, and spoke to a strange gentleman without any one's permission? Where do you get your forwardness, I wonder! In my day children would have died rather than behaved so."

Freda and Daffy were silent. Nurse scolded on, and then Daffy looked at her very sweetly:

"A poor, sick soldier, all alone, Nurse! And he has a little niece he loves, and she isn't there to comfort him, and he loves good Christians, and tries to be one himself. We told him you tried to make us into them, and he sent you these flowers, and hopes you'll let us go to see him again. I think you'd like him very much if you saw him, and I know he'd like you. And this is his little niece!"

Daffy held out her precious sketch.

Nurse took it, put on her spectacles, and read the words underneath:

"I don't like earth, I want heaven!"

"You see how good she is," put in Daffy persuasively.

Nurse gave a kind of grunt. Bertie, who had been silently listening to the conversation, now spoke.

"Me see, Nurse; me see the 'lickle girl."

"There, my lambkin, look!"

Nurse held it out to him with softened voice.

"I'll say this much, he's a clever painter. He'll be Captain Arnold, that took the Dower House some years back."

"What's the Dower House? And why has it a gate into our garden?"

"Why, it belongs to your father, of course. His mother lived and died there—your grandmother that was; but as it won't be wanted for a long time yet 'twas let. There was a Miss Arnold; your mother visited her."

"She's married. Oh, Nurse, if Mums knows them, I'm sure we may go and see him."

"Him! Is that the way to speak of a gentleman?"

"Then does the house really belong to father?" questioned Freda. "What does he want two houses for?"

"When Master Bertie grows up, bless his soul! and brings his wife here,—your father being no longer here,—then the Dower House would be ready for your mother to live in!"

"But, Nurse, how interessing!" exclaimed Freda eagerly. "Where would we live—with Bertie or with Mums?"

"You'd go with your mother, of course. This is your brother's house, not yours, if anything happened to your father. But there! Dear knows why I'm talking in such fashion. We'll hope that your father will live to a ripe old age. There's no call to be talking of his death!"

Nurse relapsed into silence. Freda's busy brain worked away.

"Why should Bertie live here and not us?" she demanded presently. "He's much littler than us!"

"He's a boy, and the heir," said Nurse importantly; "you're only girls."

Freda pouted, then she made a grimace at Bertie across the table, and he returned it promptly.

But Daffy's eyes were shining.

"Oh, think of it, Freda! One day we shall live in that lovely garden, and Bertie will be outside! We must let him come in and see us sometimes through the little door. And we shall keep dozens of white rabbits, and pick flowers whenever we like. I'd much rather live there than here, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, much; only, then, what will Fibo do?"

"We mustn't send him away. Oh, I'm sure we shall all squeeze in together beautifully. We must tell him about it and see what he says."

"But it won't happen for ever so long," said Freda regretfully; "and how awful of us wanting it to, for Nurse says Dad will have to die to let us live there."

Daffy looked horrified. Then with a bound she came back to the subject in hand.

"So, Nurse, if we're very good, can we go into that garden again? He wants us to come; he said whenever we like we could come to him."

"You'll go nowhere and see nobody unless you're asked properly and I'm with you," said Nurse sharply.

Freda and Daffy looked at each other with agonised eyes, but said no more. When tea was over, Nurse said she was going to take them for a walk. And in half an hour's time the three children were walking sedately along the country road which led to the village.

Freda and Daffy, walking a little in advance of Nurse, were able to talk together without being overheard.

"I shall write him a letter, Daffy, and ask him to write to Nurse and ask us."

"Or a wire," suggested Daffy joyfully. "Mums always asks people to tea by wires or the telephone."

"We haven't a telephone here, but there's a post office in the village. Oh, Daffy, could one of us creep in and send a wire?"

"It's a lot of money, Freda. Wouldn't a letter do?"

"Better still," said Freda excitedly; "we'll send a message—we'll get somebody to take a message. We'll find some one when we get to the village. Nurse said she was going to buy some stamps."

So, full of hope, the little girls walked on, and the village was soon reached. The post office was next to the general shop, and when Nurse went into the post office, Freda asked if she and Daffy could buy some sweets next door. Nurse gave the required permission, and they dashed in. Daffy produced her purse and began choosing her sweets; Freda eagerly turned to the stout smiling woman behind the counter.

"Do you send any of your loaves or tea or veg'tables to the Dower House?"

"Yes, dearie, very often. Mrs. Daw has all her soap and soda and such-like from us. My Willie is going up this evening with a tin of paraffin."

"Oh, please, will you get him to take a message from us to—to—is he Captain Arnold?"

"Yes, that's his name, poor gentleman. Such a pleasant-spoken gent he be, too!"

"Oh, please," went on Freda, with feverish haste, "could you give me a little piece of paper and pencil, just to write the message on?"

"Surely I will, and my Willie will take it with the greatest pleasure."

Paper and pencil were produced. Freda wrote laboriously:

"Plese ask Nurse perlitely to let us come and see you, but not her, she wants to come with us. And we wood like to come to morowe.—FREDA and DAFFY."

They had plenty of time to do what they wanted, for Nurse liked a little gossip sometimes, and Mrs. Vidler at the post office was an old friend of hers.

They came out of the shop delighted with their success. Daffy had two pennyworth of mixed sweets, and Freda, who was always just, gave her a penny from her own purse as her share of the purchase.

"Now he'll write a proper invitation, and Nurse will have to say 'Yes.'"

They were very happy for the rest of that evening, and when the postman came to the house the next morning, and Jane brought up a letter for Nurse, they looked at each other with shining eyes. How quick and prompt he had been! Nurse read her letter through in silence. They anxiously waited for her to speak, but when she did, it was to scold Bertie for spilling his milk, and the little girls were afraid to ask her any questions.

"If she gets cross she won't let us go," said Freda; "we'll be as good as gold till dinner-time."

"If we can," said Daffy doubtfully.

In London they had had two hours' lessons every morning with a daily governess; but to have nothing to do here, and knowing that their mother expected them to "run wild," was the way, they felt, to lead them into scrapes.

Nurse turned them all three into the garden after breakfast, but told them not to go out of sight of the house.

"What shall we play at?" asked Daffy.

Freda was never at a loss for games. Red Indians, pirates, gipsies, bandits had all served their turn. Now, when war was on, German spies, escaped prisoners, submarines, and air machines were what interested them most. The result was that, an hour later, Nurse came out to find Daffy up an oak-tree near the shrubbery, the oak being her flying machine. Freda was dragging a big sack down to the pond, but Bertie, inside the sack, was howling and kicking, and so gave the show away. When Nurse freed him, she found him covered with red earth, and her wrath was great.

"He's a spy. I didn't know the sack was dirty. I got it from the potting shed. He went out of sight of the house when he was hiding. Daffy went up in her flying machine and told me where to find him."

"I won't be dwowned!" shouted Bertie. "And you was smothercating me!"

Nurse called Daffy down from the tree. She had torn her frock, and had a large hole in the knee of her stocking.

"You would try the patience of Job," said Nurse, marching them up into the nursery. "It seems quite impossible for you to play as little ladies should. You make Master Bertie as naughty as yourselves. I shall have to give him a bath, and you will both sit for half an hour on your chairs for punishment."

The punishment chairs were placed in opposite corners of the nursery, and Freda and Daffy took possession of them with their faces towards the wall.

Freda was hot and angry, and kicked her legs to and fro. Daffy was absolutely unruffled.

"Never mind, Freda," she said comfortingly, when Nurse had left the room, "we had a glorious game. And I've left my handkercher up in my air machine, so I shall have to go up and get it as soon as ever I get off this chair. Oh, don't you wish we could live up in trees like the birds? I do."

"I should like to see Nurse having to climb a tall fir-tree every night to get to her nest," said Freda, with malice in her tone. "And I should like her nest to be made of holly. It would serve her right!"

Daffy chuckled with laughter.

"And now, of course," Freda went on gloomily, "she won't let us go and see Fibo this afternoon. Nothing could have turned out worse. I don't know why our games always do!"

"It's Satan, I suppose," said Daffy placidly. "Nurse says it's him who makes us get into scrapes."

Then they were silent. The nursery seemed oppressively warm this morning. Presently Nurse returned. Jane was with Bertie.

"I don't really think I shall let you go now," said Nurse. "I've had an invitation for you to go to tea with Captain Arnold this afternoon, and if you had been good—"

A wail from both chairs interrupted her.

"It isn't as if we really had made up our minds to be wicked," pleaded Freda. "Dirt and holes aren't wicked, and we didn't mean them to come on us!"

"And we're being punished now, Nurse. You can't punish us twice the same day for the same thing!"

"Stop argufying at once," said Nurse sternly. "I punish you for your good, not because it pleases me. Why can't I turn you out into the garden without your rampaging about like wild beasts, and tearing and destroying everything you possess!"

"If you let us go to tea with Captain Arnold, we promise to come home cleaner than when we went!" Freda rashly asserted.

Nurse gave a sniff.

"That you couldn't do, if you pass through my hands before you go."

The little girls were silent. They fancied Nurse was relenting, and wisely sat still on their chairs without even kicking their feet till their half-hour was up.

When dinner-time came, Nurse told them she was going to let them go; and at four o'clock two daintily dressed little maidens in soft white silk frocks and shady straw hats walked sedately along by Nurse's side to the Dower House.

There was no hope of being allowed to crawl in at the entrancing little door to-day. They went down the avenue, out by the lodge gates, along the road until they came to some high green wooden gates in the big wall. Then they walked up a short broad drive with shrubberies on each side, and reached the front of the house.

A pleasant-looking maid opened the door.

"I have brought the young ladies," said Nurse, in a very superior tone, "and I hope they will behave nicely as they should. I will send the nurserymaid for them at seven o'clock. That is the time mentioned."

Then she went away, and the children crossed a wide hall with a black beam across it, and to this beam was suspended a child's swing.

"Dreamikins!" whispered Daffy as she passed.

Then they went through a glass door to the garden, and found Fibo expecting them. He was in his chair under the trees, but he was not drawing; he was smoking his pipe and reading a newspaper. He greeted them with a smile.

"Very pleased to see you. The letter worked all right, didn't it?"

"Yes," said Freda. "It was very nearly a miss though, for we got our clothes in a mess this morning. It's so impossibly difficult to keep clean if you're enjoying yourself."

"We must all try hard this afternoon, or you won't be allowed to come and see me again."

The little girls' tongues wagged fast, they seemed to have so much to tell him—all about the Dower House one day becoming their home, and how Bertie was going to turn them out.

"I can't imagine him daring to do it," said Daffy reflectively. "Why, he's so small, we can do anything to him now. He quite looks up to us, and of course we make him do whatever we tell him. I don't see how he'll ever be so beastly as to tell Mums and us to go out of the house."

"I shouldn't worry about that. Perhaps you'll be queens in castles of your own by that time."

"Yes," said Freda eagerly, with shining eyes; "that's just it. Anything—anything might happen. Such crowds of beautiful things are in front of us!"

"My next beautiful thing is to see Dreamikins," said Daffy softly. "When do you think she'll come?"

"Ah!" said Fibo. "I've heard. One day next week; then we'll have a golden time."

"What day?"

"That's her secret. I am never told. We get ready for her, and she just walks in and surprises me. We always do it like that."

"How lovely! And does she come by herself?"

"Annette brings her."

"Who's Annette?"

"Her nurse. She's French. Dreamikins is very fond of her. Her mother thought she would learn French from her, but I am afraid Annette is too fond of English. She speaks it very well."

Freda and Daffy looked a little awed.

"Mums has a French maid, but we don't like her, and Nurse doesn't either. She says she's a heathen. She goes to Mass!"

"You aren't painting pictures to-day," Daffy said, rather reprovingly.

"No; I'm giving my hands a rest. I'm looking at pictures, and not painting them."

Daffy gazed into his eyes reflectively.

"I wonder what pictures you're looking at," she said. "You seem looking at the sky. Don't you often wish we could get nearer to heaven?"

"No; it's best to be a good way off. It would be like a hungry child gazing through the window into a baker's shop."

"But I should like to do that," said Freda quickly, "because if you can't get things, the next best thing is to pretend you have them; and sometimes in London, when Nurse let us, Daffy and me would pretend to have a feast outside a cake shop. I would ask her to taste some cakes, and she would offer me some tarts, and we would say how they tasted; and really, sometimes I fancied they were right inside my mouth."

Fibo nodded in a very understanding way. Daffy was gazing up into the sky. Then she gave an angelic smile.

"Freda and I used not to like heaven much; God used to frighten us. But we're much fonder of Him now, aren't we, Freda?"

"Yes, since last Sunday."

Freda's eyes began to twinkle. Then she gave a little chuckle.

"We went to church in the morning, Fibo. May we tell you? It was very hot and long, and nothing interessing until the Psalms came. And then I found out one of Nurse's big mistakes. She always hushes us when we're near a church, or saying our prayers, or anywhere near God. You know what I mean? She makes out that God likes us to be whispering; and on Sunday we have to be so quiet that it quite tires us out. It's the longest day that was ever made. Well, we and the clergyman were saying the Psalms, one against the other, and he began, 'Sing we merrily unto God our strength, make a cheerful noise.' Now the Psalms are quite true, aren't they? They're in the Bible."

Fibo nodded. Freda was speaking with breathless eagerness.

"So I told Daffy about it when we got home, and she wouldn't quite believe it. So she got her Bible and found the Psalms, to see if I was right, and somehow she didn't find the same verse, but she found a better one still. It was, 'Make a joyful noise unto the Lord—make a loud noise.'"

She paused.

"Well?" said Fibo inquiringly.

"Well, we did it! We shut the nursery door and we did it! We did all three—the cheerful noise, and the joyful noise, and the loud noise. And Nurse was downstairs; but, of course, she came up, and she was furious! We told her God had told us to do it, and He liked it, and we've been glad ever since that He does; but Nurse made out it was all wrong. Now she can't go against the Bible."

Daffy's face was twinkling all over.

"We did do it!" she said. "We yelled and stamped and shouted. I'm sure we must have been heard from one end of heaven to the other!"

"I wish I'd been there," said Fibo.

"You aren't shocked at noise, are you? Does Dreamikins like to make a noise?"

"Sometimes."

They went on talking, and then tea was brought out under the trees; and Drab, a soft grey cat, and Grinder, a fox-terrier, and Whiskers, the white rabbit, joined them. The little girls thought it was the most delicious tea they had ever eaten, the cakes were so fresh, and there were strawberries and cream; and after it was over, Grinder and Drab and Whiskers all had a gambol together upon the lawn. Of course Freda and Daffy joined them; and when they were all rolling about on the grass together, Fibo took out his sketch-book, and made a rapid sketch of them. He wrote underneath it, "My Tea-party," and when Freda and Daffy saw it they were delighted.

"But promise you'll never show it to Nurse. She would think it awful of us!"

"I think I shall have to talk to Nurse. Is it her legs, do you think, that make her want yours to be as stiff as they are? Or is it her head? What a pity she couldn't have a bit of her altered! Like this!"

Then he drew Nurse's heavy body, with a little, laughing, curly head on the top of it; and then her head, on a tiny, short-frocked child's body, and the child was dancing.

"Which nurse of these two would you like best?" he asked.

The children were enchanted. But after a minute or two, Daffy said gravely:

"I think p'raps Nurse had better be left as she is. I shouldn't like that laughing, curly head when I had a pain; and if she had those dancing legs, how quick she would run after us when we didn't want her to!"

"Yes," said Fibo, smiling; "I think God knew how to make a nurse when He did it. We can't improve upon her."

When Jane came for them they were very loath to go.

Freda said anxiously:

"You don't think that we asked ourselves to tea, did you? We never thought of that; only we were despairing that we should never see you again."

"And we hope," said Daffy softly, "that Nurse will let us come and see you our own way another day, through that dear little door. It's such an adventure!"

"And then we won't have our best frocks on, and can romp all over the place," added Freda.

Fibo assured them they could come through that door any day and every day they liked; and they walked home with Jane, feeling that a very good time was in front of them.

[CHAPTER III]

Dreamikins Arrives

FIBO let his newspaper drop on the grass with a little sigh. It was hard to read of the big War raging in Flanders, and to know the need of every man in England to be taking his part in it, and yet to feel himself out of it all. "Might as well be dead," he muttered, and then he shook his head at his discontented self.

It was a very hot afternoon, and he had a headache. Grinder lay on his side panting, with his tongue well out; he was half-asleep. Suddenly every hair bristled on his back, and he darted off to the house.

"Hears the advent of his enemy, the butcher boy," Fibo said to himself languidly.

Was it the pattering of leaves from the tree above that he heard behind him? Suddenly two soft little velvet arms were round his neck. A warm rose-bud of a mouth was kissing his ear.

"Here I are, Fibo!"

Such a light and gladness came into Fibo's face. In another moment he had dragged his small niece round where he could see her.

Dreamikins was always a pretty sight. To-day her golden curls, her fair dainty face with its big blue eyes and long-curled black lashes, her graceful little figure in its dainty white muslin hat and frock, and her white socks and shoes, seemed in his eyes to shine with extra glory.

"You're just in time," Fibo said gravely, "to save your Uncle Fibo from turning into a growling grizzly bear."

"I'm never just too late, are I?" said Dreamikins, dancing up and down before him in ecstasy.

Dreamikins' grammar was shocking; her uncle never tried to improve it.

"Any news?" asked Fibo carelessly.

That was the question Dreamikins always liked to be asked when she had been away from him.

Her eyes looked big and solemn. She clasped her two tiny hands, pressing her finger-tips together, as she did when in terrible earnest about anything.

"The news this time is good, Fibo. You'll be surprised to hear that Blacky left me, 'bout two weeks ago. I felt quite alone and mis'able, and then God gave me a darling little angel Cherubine. She plays with me all day long, and whispers all night, unless I'm asleep, you know. And she helps me to be good, you know. I told her how Blacky helped me to be wicked. I reely got quite tarred of fighting, fighting him all day long; and Cherubine doesn't put anything wicked into my head at all."

"Then my naughty scamp is no more, and I have an angel niece," said Fibo, looking at her reflectively. "I should think Annette doesn't know herself."

"Well, I aren't exackly an angel yet—not like Cherubine. Would you like to speak to her, Fibo? She's rather shy, and she gene'lly gets behind me."

Fibo had made acquaintance with a good many personalities who accompanied Dreamikins upon her visits to him. The first one was Old Man Sol. When Dreamikins was three she talked about him. He seemed rather a harmless old soul, but a great comfort to Dreamikins. She sometimes called her nurse after she had been put into her cot at night, because Old Man Sol wanted to be kissed, or tucked up tighter. She always talked hard to him, and he always helped her in her games. By and by he faded away, and a shadowy, indescribable Pollybill took his place. Dreamikins was absolutely happy with this creation of hers.

"Is it a she or a he?" Fibo asked one day.

"It isn't neither," said Dreamikins triumphantly.

"Oh, an 'it,' is it?"

But Dreamikins shook her head. "Pollybill is only Pollybill, and nuffin else at all. I call Pollybill 'you.'"

"What does 'you' look like?"

"Pollybill has a kitty's eyes, big and round, no cloves, only soft hair, and can be very little and very big, just what I want. And Pollybill always says 'Yes' to me, never 'No.'"

Dreamikins could describe this individual no better, and Fibo was rather glad when Pollybill departed. Then came two or three fairies and sprites, but none of them ever stayed with her long. Blacky was a Pixie. He had a long innings, and Dreamikins found him a lovely scapegoat for all her mischievous propensities.

"I 'sure you it was Blacky made me do it. He pushed me into it, and I foughted him till I was tarred out."

She had brought Blacky with her to Fibo on her last visit, and he was glad to think that he had gone for good.

"I'm very glad to welcome you to my house, Cherubine," said Fibo quite gravely, "and I hope you're going to make a long stay with us."

Dreamikins put her head on one side as if listening to somebody.

"She says she likes me so much, Fibo, that she's going to stay with me till she takes me to heaven."

"I hope that you and she will grow old together, then," said Fibo.

Dreamikins looked quite shocked.

"Oh, Fibo dear, angels never grow! I'll tell you a little more about her. Mummy told me I had a guardian angel, so she said I didn't want any of my 'make ups.' Mummy doesn't unnerstand like you; she always calls them 'make ups.' So I thought about it a lot, and God told me He wanted me to be good. It makes Him so uncomfor'ble when I'm naughty. So I asked Him didn't He think He could send me a darling little angel to take care of me, instead of the grave grown-up one that always hangs over children in beds. I asked Him to try to do it, because I must have somebody to play with. And He said He'd lend me Cherubine. And she came down, and tucked her wings under my pillow, and kissed me, and we sleeps together, and when I wake she wakes. And now, please, may I show her Whiskers? And oh, Fibo dear, are you very glad to see us?"

"Yes, I truly am; and I have a surprise for you. I can keep secrets as well as you."

Dreamikins danced up and down on her toes.

"Tell us. We're simply dying to hear!"

"I have two real little girls for you to play with."

"Oh, Fibo!"

Dreamikins stopped dancing. She could hardly believe such good news.

"Where? Whose are they?"

"They're not in my pocket," said Fibo, laughing; "but one fine afternoon your little door opened, and in they crawled from the park."

"Real little girls?"

"Real. They're bigger than you; and they live in the old Hall."

"In the big shut up house? And what's their names?"

"I call them E.E. and B.B.—Elusive Elf and Busy Brain."

Dreamikins nodded approvingly. Then she promptly seated herself on her uncle's knees.

"Now," she said, with raised finger, "begin at the very first beginning, and tell me all about them."

Fibo meekly obeyed her. They were talking hard when Annette appeared to ask if Dreamikins would come in to tea.

"I'm going to have it with Fibo."

"But there's an egg for you," said Annette—"a little brown egg produced only this morning by Madame Daw from the fat white hen. She has eaten nothing—not a little morsel, Captain—since her early breakfast. Her tongue only loves to talk, never to eat."

Dreamikins knitted her brows, then she grandly waved Annette away.

"The egg can come here," she said; "I'm not going to the egg."

Fibo looked at Annette, then at Dreamikins.

"Cherubine," he said slowly, "will you take Dreamikins in to her tea? I'm not having mine till an hour later, and her body wants some food if her brain does not."

Dreamikins opened her lips, then shut them tightly. She slipped off her uncle's knee.

"Just this once," she said, "I'll go; but Cherubine lives without eating, and she needn't try to make me."

"But you always eat when you come here," said Fibo cheerfully. "And to-morrow we'll have tea in the garden together, and perhaps we'll have B.B. and E.E."

"You're a very C.O.," said Dreamikins, laughing, and then she danced away to the house. Fibo and she had many names they called each other, and C.O. meant Cunning Ogre.

So the next day Freda and Daffy received an invitation to tea. It came in a big envelope, and inside was a sketch of Dreamikins dancing up and down.

"The pleasure of Miss Freda's and Miss Daffy's company is requested at four o'clock upon the Dower House lawn.
"R.S.V.P.
"N.B.C."

"What does 'N.B.C.' mean?" questioned Nurse, looking at the note suspiciously through her spectacles.

Freda responded promptly:

"No best clothes! Fibo hates best clothes, and so do we. He's very fond of 'N.B.C.'"

"Dreamikins has come," said Daffy, with shining eyes. "The postman told me she came yesterday. Nurse, can we ask Dreamikins to tea one day? We must ask her back."

"'Tis to be hoped she's not so queer as her name," said Nurse grimly. "If she be proper behaved I won't go against it."

Freda and Daffy were punctual to the moment. They were obliged to go round the front way, for Nurse accompanied them to the door; but Dreamikins had been watching for them and came running to meet them. She did not seem afraid of Nurse's grimness, but held out her small hand.

"How do you do? Will you come to tea too? Are you the governess?"

"I'm the young ladies' nurse," said Nurse, in her grand tone. But she was rather pleased at being taken for a governess.

"No, I'll not come in, thank you; and, Miss Freda and Miss Daffy, you're to be good children, and I shall expect you back at seven. Jane will come for you."

She turned away and left them.

Dreamikins stood confronting them for a moment in silence. Then she smiled seraphically:

"Cherubine and me like you awfully much. Do you think you shall like us?"

"Fibo said we would," said Daffy cautiously; but Freda caught hold of Dreamikins' hand.

"If you can play pretence games we'll just love you," she said with enthusiasm.

Dreamikins led them out into the garden, and for the next hour they played together. Fibo said he wanted to read, and he would talk to them later. When tea came out under the shady trees, the three little girls seemed quite tired and exhausted enough to enjoy the rest.

"We've been through the door into the Wilderness," said Dreamikins, "we've hunted boars and tigers, and rescued just a few Ogre's prisoners. And I can run the fastest, but Freda is the strongest, and Daffy can jump the highest."

They all chattered together as if they had been friends all their lives.

Once Dreamikins got grave.

"We didn't have any soldier fighting, Fibo. Mummy made me promise not to be playing that. And Cherubine cries when people hurt each other. She says they never hurt each other in heaven. They don't even scratch the skin on their knees when they tumble down."

"I suppose they don't have stones," said Daffy thoughtfully.

"The stones are quite soft and velvety," said Dreamikins quickly; "and sometimes you can eat them; they're sweets, you know."

"That's fairyland," objected Freda. "The Bible doesn't say anything about sweets."

"No; the streets are paved with gold," said Daffy.

"Nice to slide along on," said Dreamikins contentedly.

Her uncle laughed.

"Oh, you Babes!" he exclaimed.

Dreamikins admonished him with her small finger.

"Don't be a P.D., Fibo. We're not babes—not in the least!"

"What's a P.D.?" asked Daffy curiously.

"Proud Dog!" said Dreamikins. "He's always a P.D. when he calls me a 'Babe.'"

Then she said with a sudden change of tone:

"And now let's talk about the War, Fibo. Cherubine is just having a nice little nap, so we needn't mind her feelings."

"Anything but that, Dreamikins," said her uncle gravely. "I thank God daily you little ones are kept in peace and safety."

"We don't talk about it much," said Freda. "Nurse says horrors are not for nurseries. But Daffy and me want to know what will happen if everybody kills everybody. Who'll be the soldiers then?"

"God won't let all the peoples be killed," said Dreamikins. "It will crowd up heaven so all at once, and make it so stuffy!"

Freda and Daffy were not yet accustomed to Dreamikins' speeches. They stared at her in wonder. Then Daffy ventured to put her right.

"Do you think heaven is a little place? It stretches and stretches like elastic, and the more people go in the bigger it gets."

Dreamikins' blue eyes looked past Daffy as if she had not heard her.

"And of course if all the men did get killed, the women would go and finish the War, wouldn't they, Fibo? Mummy would—she wants to be there now, and I'd get a lovely gun and go with her."

"Oh, you modern child! Leave the War alone," said her uncle. "Let us talk of Whiskers, or Pixies, or anything but the Bad Bit of Life which is with us."

"Tell us one of your stories—not a arrygory, because I have to find the meaning, and it spoils it."

So the little girls settled down, and Fibo told them a wonderful, nonsensical story about a fat giant with a cough, who was afraid of his wife and tried to hide his wicked deeds from her, only his cough always betrayed him. And they listened breathlessly, and when he had finished, Freda gave a long sigh.

"You are a beautiful story-teller. I could listen all night."

"Yes," said Dreamikins proudly; "Fibo has got a big bump in his head, he says, which is bigger than other people's, and a little fairy lives inside it who whispers these stories to him. Sometimes she goes to sleep, and he can't wake her, and then he says he can't make up stories by himself, which is a pity."

"Dreamikins is exhausting in her demands," said Fibo. "The more she hears the more she wants to hear. My poor tongue aches with its constant wagging."

When seven o'clock came, and Jane appeared, Freda gave a groan.

"I could stay here for ever; couldn't you, Daffy?"

Daffy nodded.

"Yes, even if we had nothing to eat," she said.

And Fibo looked at her with his funny little smile.

"That's a great compliment to Dreamikins and me," he said.

Dreamikins was already arranging in a rapid whisper with Freda a time of meeting in the park the next day.

"I shall come through the little door," she said, "and we'll all go wild; shall we?"

Then she added impressively:

"I shall tell Cherubine she mustn't stop us before it's really time."

"What do you mean?" asked Freda.

"Well, before we're really wicked. You see, she has to keep me good. God sent her to do it."

"Oh!"

Freda looked doubtful. Then her brow cleared.

"She hasn't anything to do with Daffy and me. She can't stop us."

Dreamikins looked at her thoughtfully, but said no more. They kissed each other, and the sisters walked home feeling they had a new friend.

[CHAPTER IV]

The Return Visit

"IT'S too bad, she won't come!"

Freda stood at the nursery window with Daffy. Their noses were flattened against the panes, and they were gazing disconsolately down the beech avenue.

It was raining fast, softly, persistently, and it did not mean to stop, even though Dreamikins had been asked to tea, and it was now four o'clock. Tea was laid on the round table in the nursery. Freda and Daffy had inspected it very critically when Nurse was out of the room washing Bertie's face and hands and putting him into a clean holland suit in honour of the occasion.

There was a big currant cake in the centre of the table, some strawberry jam, and a large plate of cut bread-and-butter.

"I should like one of Mum's teas," said Daffy, with a sigh, "with sangwiches, and hot tea-cakes, and sugar-iced cakes, and chocolates. I would like Dreamikins to think we had very nice teas."

"And tea in the garden is so much nicer than in a room," sighed Freda.

"But she wouldn't have tea in the garden to-day," said Daffy.

Then they went to the window to watch for her coming. It was Nurse who told them she was sure she would not come, and now they had begun to believe it.

Bertie came up to them, and stretched up on tiptoes to see too.

"There's a b'llella!" he suddenly announced.

And, sure enough, his quick eyes had discovered the big umbrella first. It was waving about rather uncertainly, and two tiny legs and feet were underneath it.

"She's coming, Nurse! And all by herself Dreamikins is allowed to come out to tea alone."

They rushed out of the room and down the stairs to meet her. They found her in the front hail, and Purling, the old butler, was taking her wet umbrella from her.

"She's come in at the front door!" said Daffy, in awed tones.

Dreamikins looked up at them with her radiant smile.

"Did you come all by yourself?" asked Freda.

Dreamikins opened her lips quickly, then shut them tight, and waited quite a moment before she spoke.

"I was just going to say 'Yes,'" she said. "I wanted to say it, but Cherubine pinched me, so I knew I mustn't. Annette brought me to the gate and then I got her to leave me."

"Where did Cherubine pinch you?" asked Daffy curiously.

"Oh, just inside my heart," Dreamikins answered airily. "She gets in there and does what she likes."

Then she kissed her friends rather solemnly, and followed them upstairs to the nursery without saying another word.

Nurse welcomed her quite kindly. Dreamikins in a clean white frock, and her best manners, brought a smile to Nurse's lips.

Bertie hastened up to shake hands. He was very excited over this new visitor, and was ready to be friends with her at once.

Very soon they were sitting round the tea-table. Shyness had suddenly descended upon Freda and Daffy. It was Dreamikins who did most of the talking—Dreamikins and Nurse.

"I think," Dreamikins said, looking at Nurse with one of her sweetest smiles, "that I shall call you H.D. Do you mind if I do?"

"Why H.D.?" demanded Nurse.

"It means something to me," Dreamikins replied. "I always like calling people by letters. I call Mummie D.Q. Not when she scolds me, though—never then!"

She shook her curls with vigour as she spoke. Then she condescended to explain.

"D.Q. means Darling Queen," she said.

Freda and Daffy began to guess under their breath what H.D. meant, but Dreamikins would not tell them. She went on calmly:

"You see, I can't call you Nurse, because you aren't my nurse. I gave up nurses when I was quite little; they changed so often, and Mummie and me got quite tarred of them."

"I hope you weren't a very troublesome little girl," said Nurse sternly. "Children who have no nursery are always spoilt and unruly. I am sorry for their mothers, but all the best families keep their children in the nursery till they go to school."

"Did you have a nurse?" asked Dreamikins.

But Nurse changed the conversation.

When tea was over, Jane cleared away the tea, and Nurse and she left the nursery for a short time. Then the children's tongues ran fast.

"Show me your house; it's such a big one. Let us play hide-and-seek in the passages."

"Nurse won't let us. We can never do anything nice. What is H.D.?"

"Haughty Dragon," said Dreamikins, laughing gaily. "Fibo and I always call people H.D.'s who look like your nurse does. Oh, we must play hide-and-seek. I'll go and ask her."

Away darted Dreamikins, peeping into every room and dancing up and down the passages as if it were all a game. She found Nurse, and actually coaxed the permission she wanted out of her.

"It's a wet afternoon, and if you promise not to spoil or disarrange anything, you can do it," said Nurse.

Then followed a lovely hour. Freda and Daffy and even Bertie were as excited and happy as their little guest. At last the time came when Dreamikins could not be found. Every corner and cupboard in the few rooms in which they were allowed to hide were ransacked. The passages with their queer corners were searched again and again, and the children came to Nurse in the nursery with troubled faces.

"We're quite tired out," said Freda gloomily, "and we think she's climbed up one of the chimneys and got on to the roof."

Nurse bestirred herself.

"She's a mischievous child, I fear. There's such daring in her eye; but it won't do for her to come to harm here."

So Nurse went from room to room, and then at the end of one of the passages thought of a little door which led into the cistern-room. There were steps up inside, and on these steps was a white hair ribbon.

Nurse got agitated, and called aloud, and a weak little voice answered her:

"I'm nearly drownded, but Cherubine is keeping me up."

Sure enough, in the big cistern, drenched to the skin, Dreamikins was clinging with her hands to the top; her feet were on a tiny ledge that mercifully was inside, or the big cistern would indeed have drowned her. She had clambered in, taken off her shoes and stockings, and imagined that the water was not very deep.

"I was so hot, I wanted to paddle. I thought it was a little pond, and then I splashed down ever so far, but I got up again and held on tight and screamed, and I've screamed away all my voice, but Cherubine helped me."

She was certainly exhausted with her wetting and with fright. Nurse got her out with a stern set face, and carried her off to the night-nursery, where she changed all her clothes, gave her a hot drink, and then took her back to her little friends.

"Now, none of you are to leave this room," she said. "It's a mercy we haven't had a death in this house, and it isn't this child's fault that we haven't!"

Dreamikins sat still for five minutes whilst she explained to the others how she had come to be found in such a situation.

"I thought I was going to be drownded, and I asked God to send me a better angel, for Cherubine was too small to help me. But she just managed it, till the H.D. came. And now what shall we play at?"

They settled down to a game of marbles on the nursery floor. But very soon they tired of their game and began to talk again.

"Why do you live in such a big empty house?" questioned Dreamikins.

"Because Dad and Mums are in London," said Freda, "and there's nobody to fill their part of the house."

"I could get some people to fill it," said Dreamikins thoughtfully.

"What kind?" asked Daffy. "We shouldn't take anybody into our house, you know."

"It doesn't really belong to us at all," said Freda hastily. "Bertie will have it one day, and turn us out."

Bertie stared with his round eyes at his sister.

"I won't turn you out," he said. "I couldn't. You're so strong."

Dreamikins' eyes were gazing away into space. She said slowly:

"Fibo and I read a very interessing story in the Bible last night when I went to bed. It was about the good people who are turned into sheep, and the wicked who turn into goats. Goats don't live in heaven—only sheep. And if you want to be a proper sheep you have to do some differcult things. They're differcult for children; grown-up people could do them easily, but I've been thinking we really ought to begin some of them in case we die quickly. I shouldn't like to find myself a goat all of a sudden."

Freda and Daffy were not so fond of Bible stories as Dreamikins seemed to be. They looked bored, and Dreamikins was quick to notice it.

"Now, you just listen to me," she said, with upraised finger, "and I'll tell you what we've got to do. We've got to do six things, and if we do them to the proper people, Jesus will count it that we've done it to Him. Fibo explained it beautifully; he always does. We must give meat to somebody who's hungry, and drink to somebody who's thirsty, and take into our houses a stranger. That's what made me begin to think of it. Fancy how many strangers you could take in this big house! And we must visit somebody who's sick, and somebody who's in prison, and we must give a poor, naked, ragged beggar some clothes."

"We couldn't do it possibly," said Freda emphatically.

But Daffy's eyes began to shine.

"Oh yes, we could; it would be beautiful!" she said.

Dreamikins put her arms round her and hugged her.

"You and me will begin it, and then Freda will, too," she said. "We must. Cherubine will help. She thinks we ought to."

The little heads got close together. Nurse was sewing by the window, so they talked in whispers.

And then, all too soon, Jane appeared, saying that "Miss Broughton's maid" had arrived to take her home.

Dreamikins was very reluctant to go, but Nurse produced her clothes all beautifully dried, and Annette came upstairs to wait upon her.

"Ah, Miss Emmeline, you be always in trouble. What a peety!" exclaimed Annette, when she was told of Dreamikins' escapade.

Dreamikins smiled up at her.

"I 'sure you it's no trouble to me, none at all!" she said, with the greatest composure.

She hugged Freda and Daffy warmly, kissed Bertie, shook hands very politely with Nurse, and trotted off. They watched from the window her little figure tripping down the drive. Annette was holding a big umbrella over her.

"I'm not at all sure whether she's a fit playmate for you," said Nurse, with a shake of her head. "If she leads you into worse mischief than the two of you are generally up to, the house won't hold you all!"

Freda and Daffy said nothing, but presently they began to discuss Dreamikins together.

"She seems so ridicklously good," said Freda; "I never heard anybody speak about God as she does. Of course, Cherubine is a make up, but she believes it, and now she makes out we must do all this or we shan't please God. I never think about pleasing God at all. Nurse would say we never could. He's so awfully holy and far away."

"Yes; she's good," said Daffy slowly, "but she isn't proper and stupid like some good children are. And I think there'll be a lot of fun about being these Bible sheep. She gets a lot of fun out of being good."

"Yes; but she doesn't do it because of that. She really loves Jesus Christ—she told me so. I almost wish I did, but I don't."

Daffy made no answer. She thought a great deal more than Freda did, and some of her thoughts were serious.

"We'll try and take a stranger in as soon as ever we can," said Daffy. "It will be most exciting! We'll smuggle him in by one of the windows downstairs, or else Nurse will make a row."

"It might be a 'her,'" said Freda; "we don't know who it will be yet."

"It must be somebody who wants a night's lodging—some poor beggar. We see some going along the roads when we are out."

"I wonder if Dreamikins will find somebody before we do. She has no horrid nurse keeping her from doing things she wants."

"A H.D.," said Daffy, with twinkling eyes. "We'll call her H.D. to ourselves, Freda; she'll never know."

They began to wonder when they would see Dreamikins again. Their days seemed dull without her, but Nurse determined that they should not meet too often. She was distrustful of Dreamikins; there was something in her joyous face and free easy manner that touched on insubordination. And then something happened that put Dreamikins out of her head. A letter came one morning from Mrs. Harrington, and it brought sad news. The children's father had been killed by a Turkish shell in Mesopotamia.

When Nurse broke the news to the children, her voice shook. Freda and Daffy would not believe it.

"Dad killed, Nurse! Oh, he can't be! It's a mistake. He can't possibly be dead!"

"What does Mums say?"

"She's coming down this week. Dear heart alive! What shall we all do? The master—so young and hearty—but there, this War be takin' all the best! He had no need to volunteer as he did!"

Freda and Daffy crept into a corner of their nursery and cried a little. Nurse was crying easily and almost happily; tears hurt and choked Freda. She was horribly ashamed of them, and struggled to overcome them. Daffy felt she ought to cry harder than she did. She loved her father, but could not yet take in what his loss would mean. They had never seen very much of him; he had always been so busy, but sometimes he would take them to the Zoo or to Madame Tussaud's or to the Pantomime, and then the hours were golden.

"Shall we go on living here?" she asked Freda. "Perhaps Mums will take us back to London."

"Oh, I hope not. Oh, Daffy, do you remember what Nurse said? It has come to pass, and we never thought it would."

"About this being Bertie's house if Dad died? Yes, I remember."

Daffy spoke soberly, but Freda's eagerness carried her on.

"Of course if it's Bertie's house now he can give us leave to do anything we like, and it will be quite easy to put strangers up for the night. Nurse could say nothing at all, nothing. We'll ask Bertie now."

Bertie was pulled into the corner which Freda and Daffy always retired to when they had important business on hand. It was the corner which was farthest from Nurse's chair, and from her quick ears, which often heard more than they were meant to do.

"Bertie, this is your house now. You'll give us leave to have one of the bedrooms to do what we like with, won't you?"

Bertie stared at his sister with round eyes.

"Is it mine own house? Why is it?" he asked.

"Because dear Dad is dead, and he has left it to you."

"But I don't want Dad to be deaded. It makes Nurse cry."

"It makes me cry too," said Freda, gulping down a lump in her throat; "but God has done it, so there's nothing to say. And this is very important. It has to do with God. He wishes us to do it, and we want a bedroom, Daffy and me."

"What must I do?" asked Bertie meekly.

"Make him write it on paper," said Daffy, "like one of our story-books. Don't you remember a man left a little girl—Helen her name was—all his money and a big house, and he wrote it on a bit of paper?"

"I'll write it," said Freda quickly. "We'll do it at once, in case we might be stopped."

So a piece of paper was found, and a black stump of pencil, and Freda wrote in her best round copy-book writing:

"I give to Freda and Daffy one of my bedrooms in this house for somebody that God wants to stay here."

And then they told Bertie he must sign his name. He had great trouble in doing this, but they stood over him till it was done, and then Freda folded up the paper and put it into a small box of hers which locked.

"Now," she said to Bertie, "this paper is a secret, and you mustn't tell Nurse."

"I haven't been a naughty boy?" questioned poor Bertie, who always connected secrecy with misdoings.

"You've been a 'markably good boy," said Freda approvingly; and Bertie ran back to his brick-building with great content. "Now we'll have to get the room ready," said Freda triumphantly, "and then we'll find the stranger."

"But we mustn't do anything just now," said Daffy, who generally checked Freda's rapid plans. "It won't be proper. Look at Nurse. She's still crying! And we're forgetting to cry ourselves."

So they sat quietly in their corner, and began to talk about their father, and then they felt more and more miserable, and more tears fell. When Jane came in they felt pleased to hear her say to Nurse:

"The poor children! How they feel it! 'Twill be comfort for us to have the Mistress down. 'Tis a terrible blow, sure enough!"

[CHAPTER V]

Feeding the Hungry

MRS. HARRINGTON did not come down to her children for some days. When she arrived she was in deep black, and she brought the family lawyer with her. She did not see much of her children, but then she never had. She cried a little over them the first evening of her arrival, then she began to discuss their clothes with Nurse.

"I will have no black frocks. Keep them in their holland and white ones, and give them black sashes and ribbons, and put a black ribbon round their hats. That is all that is necessary."

"As long as we are in the country, I suppose, ma'am," said Nurse, with rather a shocked face.

"I am not going to have you back in town for some time. I am going to let our town house, but I will talk to you about this later on."

Nurse looked rather dismayed, but she said nothing.

This was all that the children heard. They were pleased at the idea of staying on in the country, and now that Nurse was more occupied with their mother, and less in the nursery, they enjoyed greater liberty. Jane was very good-natured, and was not particular about their behaviour. When she went out walking with them they could do pretty well as they liked. One afternoon they met Dreamikins with her maid. She welcomed them with rapture.

"I've been longing to see you. Cherubine and me feel quite dull. Fibo told me your daddy was dead. Are you very sad?"

"Of course we are," said Daffy. "We've cried gallons, and all the house is miserable, and everybody wears black dresses but us; it's a shame!"

"Do you like black frocks? Why?"

"Because they don't show the dirt," said Freda promptly. "We hoped Mums would give us some, but she won't."

"I s'pose you've been too miserable to think of being sheep."

"No-o," said Freda slowly; "we've laid plans for the stranger's bedroom, but it isn't ready yet."

"Mine is," said Dreamikins, with pride. "I maded the bed myself. I asked Fibo if I might get a bedroom ready for a visitor, and he said 'Yes.' Fibo nearly always says 'Yes,' he is such an A.M."

"What's that?"

"Angel Man. I always call him that when he is special kind. I've come out this morning to hunt about for a stranger, but I can't find one; not even a little one. Everybody we've met lives about here."

"We might do some of the other things first," said Daffy thoughtfully.

"But the stranger is the most exciting," said Freda. "I'm longing to meet him."

And then as they were walking along the lane talking eagerly somebody came towards them. It was a man, and he was in dusty clothes, and he limped. He carried an old sack across his shoulder, and one of his boots was tied round his foot with a handkerchief.

In a moment the three little girls darted towards him.

Dreamikins reached him first.

"Would you like to sleep at our house to-night?" she asked him breathlessly.

"No, at ours," shouted Freda and Daffy together.

He looked at them surlily.

"Garn with yer games!" he said; and he pushed past them, but Dreamikins laid her soft little hand on his arm.

"You must listen—we'll make you. It isn't a game; it's real sober truth. If you don't want us to take you in, p'raps you're hungry, or thirsty. Are you?"

Then the old tramp stopped.

"Yes," he said, "I be fair longin' for a drink. Have ye a copper, little leddies?"

But Dreamikins shook her head. "We must give it to you ourselves, and I reached you first, so I'll do it."

Freda and Daffy looked rebellious. But Dreamikins turned upon them with her sweetest smile.

"You won't mind, will you? I'll just go and get him a glass of milk. I'll take him to our house and give it to him. You see, my house is nearer than yours."

Before Freda and Daffy could offer any objections she had turned the corner of the lane with the tramp.

Annette, who had been talking to Jane, now hurried up.

"Ah, Miss Emmeline!" she exclaimed. "Where is it now that cheeld has gone? Away with a beggar? What a life I lead!"

She ran after her little charge, and Freda and Daffy were following, when Jane stopped them, and insisted upon going another way.

"'Tisn't time to be turning back to the village yet. Come, Miss Freda, we're going to the wood where the nuts are. You let them go and fight their own battles. We'll go on where we meant to go."

Jane gained her point after some disputing; but Daffy whispered:

"We'll go and see Dreamikins this afternoon when we're playing in the garden, and we'll go through the little door."

FREDA AND DAFFY POUNCED UPON HIM IMMEDIATELY

"I mean to be first next time," said Freda. "Dreamikins will take every one away from us if we don't take care."

For the first time they felt rather angry with their little friend; but they were very curious to know whether she had given the strange man a drink or not.

"The thing for us to do is to be ready for everything out of doors," said Freda, with decision. "We must have food and drink in our pockets, and give them to the very first beggar we see."

"I wish it wasn't beggars we have to look for; they're so dirty and rude," said Daffy discontentedly.

But on their way home fortune seemed to favour them. They came across a little boy with a white face and ragged coat sitting in the hedge. His feet were bare, and he was clutching a bundle which rested on his knees. Freda and Daffy pounced upon him immediately.

"Are you thirsty?"

"Hungry, are you?"

"Sick?"

"Do you want a nice bed to-night to go to sleep on?"

The boy looked at them with rather frightened eyes, and didn't speak.

"Who are you, and where do you live?" asked Freda, trying to speak more quietly. "You must be quick and answer, because Jane will be interfering, so make haste."

The boy jerked his thumb back over his shoulder.

"My feyther be on his rounds. He've gone over to them there 'ouses to mend their pots and pans."

"Is he a tinker?"

The boy nodded.

"And are you very poor? Wouldn't you like us to give you something to eat and drink?"

Another nod, but the boy's face brightened, and he looked up at them expectantly.

Alas, Jane came up.

"Now, Miss Freda, Nurse don't allow you to speak to tramps, I know."

"He isn't a tramp," said Freda indignantly; "his father is a tinker. We have a picture in our book 'Tim the Tinker.' They're kind of gipsies, and he's a very nice little boy."

Daffy bent her head near the stranger child.

"Come up to the Hall this afternoon at three o'clock, and wait behind the big tree in front of the house," she whispered.

Freda heard the whisper and approved. Very often whilst she hotly disputed with Nurse, Daffy quietly went and did the thing they wanted to do.

Jane found no difficulty in getting them to come home. Freda and Daffy walked on sedately in front of her. They talked eagerly in low tones, and made plans for the good of the small wayfarer.

They were turned out in the garden as usual, after their nursery dinner. Both Freda and Daffy had managed to secrete some meat, and Freda had added a piece of currant pudding, which she put in her pocket. Daffy had got a medicine bottle filled with clean water. They made their way to the grand old cedar in the centre of the lawn, and there sat down to wait for their visitor. Bertie was trundling his wheelbarrow along the gravel path. He was filling it with small stones as he went.

"We shall do better than Dreamikins," said Daffy. "And the Bible says a cup of cold water, not milk, is the thing to be given. I remember Nurse reading it to us long ago, so I've got a cup in my pocket too."

"But we haven't got his bed ready," said Freda disconsolately. "It seems so difficult; p'raps he won't want it. We'll ask him."

The time seemed long as they sat there and waited.

At last they thought they saw something moving in the shrubbery at the bottom of the lawn; and then a little figure came out of it, and crept up to them very shyly. He was barefooted no longer. He had washed his face and hands and looked quite tidy and respectable.

Freda looked a little disappointed.

"Are you really hungry and thirsty?" she asked sternly. "Speak the truth, for this isn't a game, it's a—a religious thing!"

"And," said Daffy, looking at him with dancing eyes, "if it's done properly it will turn us into sheep."

Well might the small boy stare at the children in dazed wonder.

"There be six of us," he said, "and times be bad, and feyther he won't go for a soldier, and mother she lams it into him he oughter."

"Of course he ought," said Freda; "our father went out to fight in Egypt somewhere, and he's been killed."

The small boy did not seem impressed, but he told them he was "fair famished."

"Now sit down, and we'll give you something to eat and drink. You first, Daffy."

So Daffy with great pride pulled out of her pocket a small china cup and her medicine bottle of water.

She filled the cup solemnly and presented it to him.

He looked at it, took a gulp, then pitched the cup on the grass, and Freda declared afterwards that he used a "wicked swear" word.

"I didn't come up 'ere in the bloomin' heat to be fooled," he said.

Freda and Daffy looked quite frightened.

Freda hastily produced some slices of cold roast mutton in a paper parcel.

"We're not fooling you; we're giving you what the Bible tells us to give you—meat and water. And I've a piece of pudding besides. Here it is!"

He almost snatched the meat from her, and ate it wolfishly in his fingers.

"Hain't you got no more?" he asked.

"Here's the pudding," said Freda.

She and Daffy watched him with disgusted faces. Then Daffy said very gently:

"I don't think you know how very differcult it's been to get you anything at all. We had to get Nurse out of the room, and coax Jane, and then she would hardly let us take any."

The pudding quickly disappeared, and then the boy's bright impudent eyes looked up.

"Mother thought as 'ow you might give me something for the little 'uns. Feyther—he drinks more'n he earns."

"We've nothing more to-day," said Freda hastily; "except p'raps we could get a bedroom for you. Would you like to sleep with us one night?"

He grinned, but shook his head.

"Where do you sleep?" asked Daffy.

"We lives in Northcott; we was only comin' roun' the village 'ere, feyther and me. Mother 'll be on the look-out for me now; 'er did hope for a napple puddin' or such-like."

Even Freda and Daffy received that suggestion suspiciously. Apple puddings, of course, would be a boy's taste, but a mother with a starving family might prefer something more nourishing. Then from under his jacket he produced a dirty white calico bag.

"Mother giv' me this to bring back full," he said.

Freda and Daffy gasped as they saw the size of it.

They consulted together in low tones.

"You see, we shall be feeding a lot of hungry children all at once," said Freda. "I'm sure it would be a good thing to do. Let's take the bag, Daffy, and go round to the yard by the back-kitchen door. The kitchen-maid might give us some scraps."

"Yes; we'll tell him to wait here."

No sooner said than done. The boy threw himself down on the grass under the tree, and the little girls ran off with his bag.

They were fortunate in meeting Nellie, the kitchen-maid. She was filling a can from a tap in the yard. They hastily explained to her what they wanted.

"A dear little hungry boy, and he will be glad of any scraps."

"Dear Nellie, do give us some, but don't tell Nurse."

She laughed.

"Eh, but you'll be gettin' me into a scrape sure enough if Cook catches me."

But she took the bag, and in about five minutes' time came back with it nearly full.

"'Twill only be thrown to the fowls and dogs," she said. "There, get on, or else we'll all be getting into trouble."

Away marched the little girls with their burden, but, alas! as they turned round the corner of the house they saw a big motor at the hall door.

Their mother was saying good-bye to some friends, and, to add to their dismay, Nurse was crossing the lawn with Bertie.

Mrs. Harrington caught sight of her little girls, and called to them.

"Come and speak to your godmother, Freda; and Daffy too. Come along!"

Daffy ran forward, but, on the impulse of the moment, Freda dropped her bag and sat upon it. It was the only way she could hide it.

Daffy stopped when she saw her sister was not following her.

"Go on, Daffy; I can't get up," said Freda desperately.

"What is Freda doing?" asked Mrs. Harrington, as she introduced her little girl to a pleasant-looking motherly woman—a Lady Aline Cotteswode—and her son, an invalided soldier from the War.

"She can't get up," said Daffy nervously.

"Has she hurt herself? Oh, I must see my goddaughter!"

In another moment, to Freda's horror, her mother and her visitors left the motor and came along the terrace to where she sat.

Now Freda felt she was in a desperate plight. In another moment the bag would be exposed, and she would be handed to Nurse in deep disgrace.

"I must tell a lie, I must, I must," she said frantically to herself.

"Get up at once, Freda. What are you doing?" said Mrs. Harrington sharply.

Freda looked up with agonised eyes.

"I can't, Mums."

"Where are you hurt?"

Then the young soldier laughed out.

"She's sitting on eggs. We mustn't disturb her."

It was only too plain that she was sitting upon something, and her mother caught hold of her and lifted her up. Then Freda stood with scarlet cheeks and downcast eyes, and the bag itself was lifted up by her vexed mother.

"My little girls are always hatching mischief, not eggs," she said, with a forced laugh. "What in the world does this bag of food mean, Freda, and why should you try to hide it?"

"Never mind," said Lady Aline cheerfully, kissing the hot soft little cheeks, and becoming conscious that Freda's blue eyes were filling with tears. "You were in the middle of a lovely game when we disturbed you. I want you to come over and spend a day with me soon. I am having little Emmeline Broughton over. She is a close neighbour of yours. Do you know her?"

"Dreamikins?" asked Freda, forgetting her trouble at once. "Oh yes, we love her, and we love her uncle too."

"Ah!" said young Captain Cotteswode. "There you show your good taste! He's a great friend of mine, and that little elf of a niece leads him a nice dance sometimes."

Lady Aline laughed, and turned to Mrs. Harrington.

"Keep your chicks away from her, Helen, if you value your peace of mind! She took a drunken tramp to the village inn this morning and gave him two glasses of beer. He began to get quarrelsome, and then the Rector passed by, heard the row, and rescued the young lady. He could not convince her she had done wrong, for she said the man had told her he was thirsty, and the Bible told her to give him drink."

Daffy and Freda exchanged glances.

After a little more talk, Lady Aline and her son went back to their motor, and drove away. Then Mrs. Harrington turned to her little daughters.

"Now, what is the meaning of this?"

"Oh, Mums, there was a poor little hungry boy, and we were taking some scraps to him. Please let us do it. He is waiting down near that tree."

"But you mustn't encourage beggars, children. Does Nurse know about it? And why did you behave like that, Freda? I was ashamed of you. Don't you know you should never hide up anything? Doesn't Nurse teach you to be truthful and frank? I must speak to her about it."

"Oh, please, Mums, forgive me," said Freda humbly. "Don't tell Nurse, she scolds and scolds and scolds, and makes us out the wickedest children in the world, when we are really trying to be good."

"And, darling Mums, may we just give the bag to this poor boy? For it belongs to him, and we promised him," said Daffy coaxingly.

"Where is he?"

Freda pointed to the tree on the lawn.

Mrs. Harrington went towards it, the children following her. She spoke rather sharply when she saw the boy.

"Look here, you must go away at once. I will let my little daughters give you what they promised you, but I have told them it must never occur again, and this is the last time you come near the Hall. Do you quite understand?"

The boy took the bag held out to him by Freda, then he touched his cap to Mrs. Harrington, and darted down the drive.

"Now then, children, run away to Nurse, and don't act so foolishly again."

Mrs. Harrington went back to the house. Freda and Daffy drew long breaths of relief.

"Mums won't tell Nurse. She always forgets to. I'm so glad the boy has got it. What an awful thing for Dreamikins to do! She said she was going to give him milk."

"I expect he told her he would rather have beer," said Daffy; "and we were going to see her, Freda, and we haven't gone."

"It's too late now. We'll go to-morrow. We've done more than she has, anyway."

"But he didn't like my water," said Daffy sorrowfully.

[CHAPTER VI]

The Strangers Arrive

THE little girls did not meet for several days. The weather was bad again, and kept them confined to the house. Dreamikins missed Freda and Daffy as much as they missed her. She had been very quiet and contrite after her visit to the public-house. When Fibo asked her how she came to think of such a thing, she looked at him sweetly and gravely.

"It was Cherubine who ercited me to do it. And you read it to me yourself, Fibo. I can say the verse: 'I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink.' He told me he was thirsty, and he said beer was the only thing that did him good. He doesn't like milk or water. So I gave him drink; and when he wanted another glass, I paid for it; and I had no more money, and when he wanted more he got into a bad temper because he couldn't have it. Mr. Temple seemed to think me wicked. I'm not, am I? God understands quite well, and if Cherubine told me to do it, it must be good."

"I'm beginning to be doubtful about Cherubine," said Fibo, looking at his small niece with perplexity in his eyes. "I think you had better consult me first, next time she tells you to do risky things."

"Oh, but she wouldn't like that at all, at all," said Dreamikins hastily. "She would think it very rude of me, if I told you things she tells me; and you mustn't forget where she comes from, Fibo dear."

Fibo took this rebuke in silence, and Dreamikins moved about with great dignity for the next half-hour. Then she forgot all about it, and chased Grinders round and round the lawn till they were both exhausted.

Two days afterwards she was allowed to go to the post office by herself and post a letter for her uncle. On the way back she saw a young man leaning against his bicycle, talking to the landlord of the "Blue Boar." And as she was passing him, she heard him say:

"I'm sorry you can't put me up. I'm a stranger in these parts, and I wanted to stay the night here."

A stranger! Dreamikins' heart beat fast. She stood still in the road considering; but she never considered very long. The delightful possibility before her drove everything else out of her head. She watched the young man get upon his bicycle with rather a weary air, and then, as he rode towards her, she stepped into the middle of the road and held up her small hand authoritatively.

The young man swerved, jumped off his cycle, and said rather sharply:

"Do you want to be run over, little girl? What are you doing?"

"I'm stopping you. The policemen do it like that at Brighton."

"But what are you stopping me for?"

Dreamikins came very close to him, and laid hold of his coat sleeve.

"I've got a bed ready for you," she said, in an eager whisper, "and I've sticked pins in the cushion, and Fibo let me do it, and Cherubine and me will be very happy if you comes to-night, and please come along now."

The young man looked quite bewildered.

Did this child belong to some people who let lodgings? he wondered. If so, he was in luck's way. He recklessly determined to follow her.

"I want to sleep here to-night," he said. "I've done nearly forty miles to-day, and am dead beat."

"And you're a stranger," said Dreamikins softly. Then she tucked her hand into his.

"I've been expecking and expecking till I'm worn out."

"Did you expect me?"

"Well, no, not exackly. You're rather dusty, but you're not in rags. It doesn't say what the stranger is to be like, but I'm sure you'll do."

When she came to her uncle's house the young man hesitated, and felt uncomfortable. But she led him into the garden in joyful triumph, and took him straight up to her uncle's invalid chair.

"Fibo dear, he's comed! The stranger has comed! And his room is quite, quite ready. And I've bringed him to you, so that it may be all right."

Fibo turned. The young man bowed.

"I'm a parson on a holiday," he said, "and the inn was full, and they couldn't put me up, and this little girl assured me I should get a bed here. She wouldn't take a No from me, so I came along. My name is George Ferrers. I'm a curate in Birmingham."

Fibo held out his hand.

"I believe you've done right to come," he said, "and I don't wonder my pixie led you here. Her soul is in the adventure."

"What does it mean?" asked George Ferrers.

He looked at Dreamikins as he spoke, and she danced up and down in ecstasy, her face radiant with smiles.

"Explain it, Dreamikins," said her uncle.

Then Dreamikins stood still, and the sweet reverent look came into her face.

"It's just instead of having Jesus Christ to sleep with us," she said. "We can't have Him. I should burst with joy if I could; but He told us if we got any stranger instead of Him, it would do, and so you've come."

Then George Ferrers' eyes shone with a glad light. He understood.

"I am not worthy," he said.

There was silence for a moment. Then Fibo said heartily:

"You'll be doing us a kindness if you stay. I can't get about, and my visitors are few and far between. Dreamikins shall take you to our spare room; and make yourself at home! I dine at eight."

"I'm ever so grateful," George Ferrers answered, and then Dreamikins led him away.

She was very excited, made Clara bring some hot water, and showed him the soap she had put in the soap-dish, the pins in the pincushion, the bunch of flowers in the vase on the dressing-table. She even turned back the sheet and blankets of the bed to show him his pillows.

"I maded the bed with Clara, and she laughed all the time; and I dust the room every day with my own duster, so I know it's ready. Do you like it? Do you think it's nice?"

"I think it's just perfect," said the young man enthusiastically, and when Dreamikins at last left him, she went back to her uncle with a shining face.

"I haven't made a mistake this time, have I, Fibo? Cherubine told God how dreadfully mis'able I was over the beer that man drinked; and so God planned it all out for me to-day. Wasn't it good and sweet of Him!"

What could Fibo say? He looked very grave.

"You did quite right in bringing him straight to me, Dreamikins. You won't make mistakes if you always do that."

Whilst Dreamikins was entertaining her guest, Freda and Daffy were busy preparing for theirs. They had chosen a bedroom leading out upon a balcony in a disused wing of the house, and they had stolen into this room at different times, bringing treasures of all sorts—soap, bits of candles, towels from other rooms—and now their great difficulty was sheets and pillow-cases.

"It isn't fair," grumbled Freda; "Dreamikins has only to say, and she gets at once. Everybody is against us in this house. Even Jane won't give us matches. And he must have matches."

"I'll get some matches from Nellie," said Daffy, "and we'll wait till the stranger is really coming, and then we will give him our sheets and pillow-cases and go without ourselves. That will be very good of us, I'm sure, because I hate blankets, they tickle so!"

Every day they looked out for strangers, but none seemed to come their way. When the weather grew fine again, they thought out a plan, and that was to go down to the park wall which bordered the road. There was a part of it lower than the rest, and a tree grew close to it. Freda and Daffy were able to climb this tree and then step on to the wall. They sat here patiently, watching everybody who went along the road. Once or twice tired-looking men with knapsacks on their shoulders had passed them, but they had not the courage to speak to them or stop them. At last, one afternoon when they were sitting there an old man came along, and sat down to rest in the hedge on the opposite side of the road.

"He's a tramp and a stranger," said Freda breathlessly; "just the one!"

"Yes," assented Daffy; "we must make haste and ask him."

So Freda called out in her high clear voice:

"Good afternoon, old man; we're very glad to see you. Would you like to sleep at our house this evening? You look very tired."

The tramp looked across at them in surprise. He was not a nice-looking man. He had a thin grey beard and little cunning eyes. His hat had once been a soft black felt, now it was battered and green. He wore a dark green handkerchief round his throat. His coat was out-at-elbows, his trousers were patched at the knees, and frayed out and ragged at the hems.

"Afternoon, Missy!" he said, and his voice was the only pleasant part about him. It was cheery and brisk.

"I'm for having a nap where I am," he said.

"But where are you going to sleep to-night?" asked Daffy.

"I reckon at Doulton Union if I can walk it; but I've blistered me heel and have to go slow. And I've a thirst which rages. Mow I wonder if you've a copper to spare a tired thirsty old man?"

"We haven't any money," said Freda, in a crestfallen voice, "but we've a beautiful bedroom ready for you, and towels, and soap, and candles, and matches, and the bed will be ready for you if you say you'll come. Daffy and me are looking out for a stranger. It's in the Bible that we're to do it, and so we've got it ready."

"I'll tell you how to find the room," said Daffy, bending over from her perch in rather a dangerous fashion. "You come in at the park gates, and go round by the shrubbery to the part of the house that is shut up. The blinds are all down, and there's a balcony outside one window and steps up to it. We'll leave the window unlocked, and you can creep in when dark. Will you come?"

"Do come!" pleaded Freda. "If we can, we'll put some food inside, because you'll be wanting some supper."

"Well," said the old man slowly, "it wants turnin' over in my mind, so it do! I may step up to-night and I mayn't!"

"Oh, do promise us you will! It's no good getting your bed ready if you don't."

"Who be livin' at your house? Is the master at home?"

"Dad used to be the master, but he is dead, and Nurse says Bertie is the master now, and he's written a paper to say we can do it. Mums and Nurse and us and all the servants live there."

There was silence, then the old man looked up at them, and his small eyes twinkled.

"You go 'long with you, and put some drink as well as mate in that there bedroom, and old John Cubbs will thank 'ee kindly."

"Then you'll be there to-night?" asked Freda breathlessly.

"Ay, I reckon I may."

The children got back to the tree and climbed down.

"It seems too good to be true," said Daffy breathlessly. "Now what must we do, Freda?"

"We can't take our sheets till after we're in bed to-night; Jane would miss them; but we can get some food for him. Nellie is our only hope."

So they made their way to the back door and lay in wait for Nellie. They dared not go in. The old cook would have no children in her kitchen at any time.

When Nellie came out and heard their request, she shook her head.

"Now who's it for this time? You mustn't bring beggars about the place."

"But he's in the road now," said Freda. "Do, Nellie, just this once. He's a poor old man; think if he was your grandfather!"

Nellie tossed her head.

"My grandfeyther is a respectable man. He wouldn't be beggin' from children like you."

"Oh, he didn't beg, at least not before we spoke to him. Just a nice plate of scraps, Nellie; the best that you can spare."

Nellie went indoors. She came out again very soon with a basin in her hand.

"There, take it. The basin is cracked, so it won't be missed; but this is the very last time, Miss Freda."

The children hurried away with their basin. They smuggled it into the house, and softly crept along the passages till they came to their empty room. Once inside, they breathed more freely.

"I feel as if we're being rather sly," said Freda, "but it's Nurse who makes us so. If we hadn't a nurse we wouldn't be sly."

"But do you think Mums would like it?" questioned Daffy.

"I think if she had time to sit still till we explained she would understand. Jesus Christ wouldn't have told people they ought to do it if it wasn't right. He says distinctly: 'I was a stranger, and ye took Me in.' This old man is a stranger and we're going to take him in."

"Yes," said Daffy; "it must be right."

They looked round the room. Everything seemed ready. Freda cautiously unlocked the big French window, which led out upon the balcony.

"Suppose he doesn't stay in his bedroom," suggested Daffy, "and comes walking over the house, and Nurse met him, or Mums did, what would they say?"

"He wouldn't be likely to walk over the house in the middle of the night. He would want to sleep. But the key is on the passage side of the door; we would lock him in."

"Yes; he could get out and in by the window. Freda, will he stay more than one night?"

"I hope not. I never thought of that. Nellie won't give us another basin of food."

"She hasn't given him anything to drink."

"He must drink water out of the water-bottle. We filled it."

"The most difficult thing is to get our sheets on his bed."

"Oh, we'll do it," said Freda airily. "We'll manage it when Nurse goes down for her supper. She always has it in the housekeeper's room."

They walked round the room. The bed was a big one; there was a chintz-covered couch at the foot of it, and a big easy-chair. A writing-table was in one corner and a bookcase in the other. The carpet was thick and soft to tread upon. Damask curtains hung over the window.

"I'm sure he'll find it very comfortable," said Daffy, smelling the soap on the washing-stand.

"I wonder if he's got a hairbrush and toothbrush and all he wants?"

"Oh yes, he had a bundle. We'll put his basin on the writing-table. It has got a mutton chop in it, and some cold potatoes, and a piece of bacon, and then there's some rice pudding, and a dry bit of cake, and a piece of jam roll. But it's all mixed up. It must taste very nasty."

Freda had been carefully examining the contents of the basin. Now she placed it on the table, and then she and Daffy slipped out of the room.

"I won't lock the door till we've got the sheets in," she said.

They spent the rest of the day in anxiously thinking about the stranger's coming. When bedtime came, Daffy was almost glad.

"It seems quite a year since we saw the stranger," she said. "I do hope he'll manage to get in all right."

The little girls slept in two beds side by side in one night-nursery, Nurse and Bertie slept in the other; and the two rooms opened into each other, and the door between them was never shut.

When they were in bed Nurse left them, and went back to the day-nursery, where she and Jane sat and worked or read. It was still daylight, though the blinds were down, and directly they were left alone Freda set to work.

"We must leave our top sheets in case anybody sees. You take off your bottom one quick, Daffy, and I'll take off mine, and we must fold them up very small, and put the pillow-cases inside. There are two pillows to be covered, so we must have both of ours."

This was done after some trouble in folding them up. Then they crept back into bed again, each hugging her sheet, and waited to hear Nurse go downstairs. The time seemed long. Would she never go?

[CHAPTER VII]

Freda and Daffy in Trouble

DAFFY was getting sleepy. Suddenly Freda called to her in an excited whisper:

"She's gone, and Jane went first. Come on, and don't make a noise."

Softly they sped along the passage, down some stairs to another long passage, through a green baize door, past several rooms, and at last they came to the right one.

"He may be here already," said Daffy fearfully. "I'm a little afraid."

"He won't come till he wants a bed," said Freda reassuringly; "and grown-up people never go to bed till it's quite dark."

They found the room empty, but Daffy kept glancing out of the window, with her heart beating fast. It was dusk in this big room. The creepers outside the window tapped against the window-panes, as if they were hands that wanted to come in.

She and Freda were not very clever at making up a bed, and when she pulled a corner of the sheet towards her, Freda pulled it away again. It seemed as if they could not get it smooth and straight.

Then an owl hooted outside the window, and Daffy gave a little scream.

Freda was hotly indignant with her.

"You're a coward, that's what you are! And you'll make Nurse come down upon us, if you don't take care. I wish you weren't so clumsy! Do be quick! I think I hear him coming!"

That quickened Daffy. She did not want to see that dirty ugly old man coming into the dusky room. The pillows were thumped into their cases, the blankets and coverlet drawn tight over the big bed and tucked under the mattress, then Daffy slipped out of the room, thankful the task was over. Freda locked the door and took the key to bed with her; even her bold heart did not wish to have the old man prowling about over the house in the middle of the night.

They snuggled down into their beds again, rejoicing that they had not been seen by any one. Daffy dropped off to sleep quickly in spite of her rough blanket. Freda lay still with wide awake eyes. She trembled when, later on, Nurse came into the room with candle in hand. She stood over the children's beds for an instant, and Freda breathed quickly. Would she see there was no sheet?

But Nurse passed on, muttering to herself as she sometimes did, and Freda caught the words:

"Poor fatherless children, and their mother bored at having to think about them!"

Then Freda burrowed her head into her pillow, and sleep soon came to her.

The next morning was bright and sunny. But there was no sunshine in the nurseries, for Nurse had quickly discovered the absence of pillow-cases and sheets, and her wrath was great. Jane was called, and the children questioned, but Freda and Daffy maintained a stubborn silence.

Nurse took hold of Freda by the shoulders and shook her.

"Not one morsel of breakfast shall you have until you've told me what you've done with your sheet, you naughty child!"

Then Freda lost her temper. She flung the key down on the floor in front of Nurse.

"Go and find out for yourself; I shan't tell you! I hate you!"

And even mild-tempered Daffy echoed: "Yes, go and find them, Nurse. You always call us naughty before you know!"

Nurse seized the key.

"Jane, sit them on those chairs till I come back."

The little culprits were taken to the day-nursery. Jane seated Bertie at the breakfast-table, then went to fetch the porridge.

"Freda, do you think she'll find him in bed?" whispered Daffy from her high-backed chair.

"I don't care if she does," said Freda, with hot angry cheeks. "I hope he'll kick her."

Nurse was a long time coming back. They heard her hasty steps along the passage, and voices and doors opening and shutting. Then they heard their mother's voice calling to Purling, and their hearts quaked and thumped.

"They've found him asleep," said Daffy, "and now they're wondering who he is. Oh, Freda, I do wish we hadn't done it."

Shortly afterwards the door opened and Jane came in with the porridge. She looked very excited. Behind her was Nurse, and their mother, with her hair braided down her back, and clad in her blue silk dressing-gown.

"Here they are, ma'am, and it beats me how they dare to do such things! There's nothing they won't be up to, but when it comes to harbouring thieves and vagabonds, then I say nothing but a sound whipping will do them any good!"

"Freda and Daffy, get down from those chairs. Now what do you know about this? Somebody has been sleeping in one of our spare rooms; he has left this behind him, but taken away a good many things that did not belong to him. The gardener says he met an old tramp coming down from the house at six o'clock this morning, and he told him he had been sleeping at the house as a guest!"

Mrs. Harrington held out a piece of notepaper, evidently a sheet that was on the writing-table, for it bore the Harrington crest upon it, and the address, "The Hall, Douglas Cross."

In shaky writing across it, were these words:

"My thanks to the yong ladies. A very good nite."

Freda looked at Daffy, and Daffy looked at Freda.

"Speak," said their mother sharply. "What have you been doing?"

"May we tell you alone, Mums?" said Freda. "Nurse doesn't understand. We did get the bedroom ready for him, and told him how to get to it, but—"

"There, ma'am," said Nurse angrily. "Now what do you think of that? They're beyond me altogether! It's a mercy we were not all murdered in our beds!"

"You had better give them their breakfasts and send them to me. I must get to the bottom of it. Those Sheffield plate candlesticks and ivory trinket boxes are a real loss. I shall have to put it into the hands of the police."

Mrs. Harrington left the room as she spoke, and then ensued a very bad half-hour for Freda and Daffy. Nurse could scold like nobody else. They were only allowed dry bread for their breakfast, and were not allowed to speak to one another. When they were sent to their mother's room, Freda carried a little box under her arm; she was defiant, Daffy indifferent. Nurse's scoldings had always that effect on them.

"Mums won't scold like Nurse; we couldn't hear anything worse," Daffy said, as they walked along the passages to their mother's room.

Mrs. Harrington was sitting by her open window having her breakfast; she always took it in her bedroom. She never had understood her little daughters. She disliked finding fault with any one, and the loss of her husband had affected her so deeply that she felt nothing else mattered. Now she looked at them with a perplexed frown upon her face.

"Come in, and tell me quietly why you have been behaving in this extraordinary way."

Freda was only too ready to be spokeswoman.

She opened her box, and produced a slip of paper which she laid upon her mother's lap.

"You see, Mums dear, Bertie gave us the room. It belongs to him now, doesn't it? And Daffy and me are trying to be good and to do what the Bible tells us. And you know when Jesus Christ will stand at the door of heaven to let everybody in, He'll ask us if we've taken a stranger in, and given drink and food to the hungry and thirsty, and a lot of other things. If we haven't done it, we shall have to be goats, and if we have, we are sheep. And the sheep go inside heaven and the goats are shut out. And Daffy and me want to be the sheep."

Her mother looked at her gravely.

"I see. You explain very clearly. Go on!"

"Well, then, you see we had to find a stranger to take in, and an old man passed along the road, and we were sitting on the wall, and we asked him if he would like to have a bed for the night. We didn't know he was a wicked thief, and we told him how to get to the bedroom up the steps to the balcony, and Daffy and me couldn't get any sheets for him, so we took one of ours, and that's why Nurse found it out and was so angry."

Mrs. Harrington was looking at the paper upon her lap. She read it out aloud:

"I give to Freda and Daffy one of my bedrooms in this house for somebody that God wants to stay here.
"BERTIE HARRINGTON."

"Now who told you that this house belonged to Bertie?"

"Long ago," said Daffy softly, "Nurse told us that Bertie was much more important than us, because, if Daddy died, this house would belong to him."

"You haven't waited long to take advantage of your father's death," said Mrs. Harrington, rather bitterly.

Freda and Daffy hung their heads in shame.

"Now pay attention to me," their mother continued, in her slow quiet tones; "this house does not belong to Bertie till he is twenty-five years old. It belongs to me till then, and I forbid you to ask any one to stay in it unless you have my permission. Until you understand the Bible better, you are not to act out its precepts without asking grown-up people if it is right for you to do so. I believe there is a verse about heaping coals of fire on your enemy's head. Do you think you ought to do that?"

"I feel I would like to do it to Nurse," said Freda, with emphasis. In imagination she saw Nurse's cap and hair in flames, and considered it would serve her right.

"Exactly. You don't understand that a great deal of the Bible is figurative language."

"What is that, Mums?"

"Oh, I can't explain," said Mrs. Harrington, yawning. Then she roused herself to speak sternly. "That old tramp decamped with a good many valuable articles of ours. You put temptation in his way, and if the door had not been locked outside, he would have stolen much more. Who did that?"

"I locked the door, Mums," said Freda.

There was silence.

"Well, for children, I suppose you managed as wisely as you could. Now go back to Nurse, she will know how to punish you. And never do such a thing again. I thought I told you not to encourage beggars when I sent that boy away the other day."

"Nurse will be so fearfully angry," said Daffy.

"You deserve her to be. It was doing it secretly that must be punished. I will not have you grow up deceitful children."

"But Nurse thinks everything wicked," wailed Freda; "she wants us to have no fun at all."

"You don't want fun when your father lies dead in a foreign land," said Mrs. Harrington sharply.

Then she relented as she saw the forlorn look on the little girls' faces.

"There's right fun and wrong fun, and the Bible ought not to be turned into fun. Never. Now go back to the nursery."

Freda and Daffy crept out of their mother's room. Nurse was waiting for them, and did what she very seldom did now, she gave them each a sound whipping, and put them to bed.

And Freda and Daffy were two very unhappy little girls for all that day. They felt that from the grown-up people's eyes they had behaved badly; but they wondered if God looked down from heaven and understood better than Nurse.

"We'll ask Dreamikins about it," said Daffy; "but she never seems to get punished for anything."

"That old stranger ought to be punished, not us," said Freda. "We gave him a nice bed and food, and he stole Mum's candlesticks and other things."

"Nurse makes out the bed and the food weren't ours to give him," said Daffy. "She treats us as if we're thieves."

"Perhaps we are," said Freda thoughtfully.

Her busy brain was hard at work. She felt shaken in her self-confidence.

It was two or three days later that Fibo asked them to tea, and though Nurse was almost against their going, their mother said they might do so.

Dreamikins greeted them with her usual joyous welcome.

"Cherubine and me have been longing to see you. I've had a beautiful stranger staying in my bed, and Fibo liked him so much he stayed two days."

"Oh!" groaned Freda. "Everything is all right with you. We took in a stranger who was a thief, and Nurse hardly thinks us out of disgrace yet, though it was days and days ago!"

They began to compare their experiences, and then somehow or other they found themselves pouring it all out to Fibo, and Daffy asked him when he had heard all:

"Now do you think we were any wickeder than Dreamikins? What's the difference between us?"

"Why," said Dreamikins, "I've got an A.M. for my uncle, and you have a H.D. for your nurse. That's what makes the difference."

"Now look here," said Fibo, rousing himself, as he saw Freda's and Daffy's anxious faces. "I think I must give you all three a good talking to, because none of you are quite as wise yet as we grown-up people. Astonishing, isn't it? Now come and sit down, and we'll be thoroughly comfortable before I begin."

The little girls sat in a circle upon the grass round Fibo's chair, then Dreamikins insisted upon having Grinder and Drab.

"It'll do them good to hear you, Fibo dear, and after we've all listened hard, you must give us one choc each for good behaviour. Cherubine is going to listen too. I know she'll say 'I told you so!' when she hears you."

"Now then, here we go. First of all, I must remind you that those words were addressed to grown-up people, not to children. If you look in your Bibles, our Lord was speaking to His disciples."

"Oh, Fibo dear," said Dreamikins reproachfully, "can't children be disciples?"

"Yes, they can, but they are not able to do everything that grown-up people do. And this taking in of strangers is not for them, because they don't own a house or a bedroom; nor is food even, if taken from the kitchen, theirs to give, as B.B. and E.E. know."

"But," said Freda eagerly, "we did think the house and bedroom belonged to Bertie; Nurse said it did, and we got him to give it to us, only Mums says it belongs to her."

"Yes; you see, you made a mistake; that's where you showed you were not quite wise enough to manage such a big undertaking. The fact is, though none of you like to hear it, you mustn't act on your own. Ask advice of older people."

"I always ask Cherubine," said Dreamikins, smiling.

"Yes, but you would do better to ask me," said Fibo.

Dreamikins put her head on one side, then she held up one small finger. "Hush, Fibo, Cherubine is speaking."

Fibo was quiet at once, but he looked straight at his small niece with rather grave eyes, and she gave a little wriggle.

"Oh well, Fibo, she says she'll tell me to ask you sometimes, and you know I did ask you about the room, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, but it was just a chance you didn't bring along a thief into the house. You wouldn't have known the difference. Now I'll tell you a beautiful way you can carry out our Lord's wishes. What is it He wants you to do?"

"To give drink to the thirsty and feed the hungry," said Daffy.

"To take strangers in and visit the sick," said Freda.

"And give clothes to the naked and visit in prison," said Dreamikins.

"Very well. Now I know several good people who take ragged children in; they feed and clothe them and give them houseroom, and nurse them when they're sick, but they can't do this without money. Now, if you have a collecting box, and put some of your loose pennies in, I will send up the box to them when full, and then you will be feeding these children, and clothing them, and taking them in as strangers with your money."

"Oh, but that would be so dull, Fibo dear," said Dreamikins.

The children's dismayed faces made Fibo laugh.

"And that wouldn't do it all; it wouldn't be visiting in prison," said Freda.

"Well, I know people who visit in prison, and that can't be done without money; you could have a box for that. You see, if you really feel you can't wait till you're grown-up to do these things, you can get some people to do it for you; that's what I mean."

"It isn't a bit the same," said Dreamikins. "And lots of children don't grow up; you know they don't; and then we shall be goats."

Fibo looked at his niece with a funny little smile, then he said suddenly:

"Perhaps you could do one or two of the things now, without waiting till you turn into wiseheads."

"Oh, do tell us," cried Freda and Daffy together.

"I think you could go and visit somebody sick. Mrs. Daw was telling me to-day of a dear old body who is in bed with very bad rheumatism. She used to be our laundress. She lives quite alone, and would be cheered up if you went to see her."

Dreamikins clapped her hands; but Freda and Daffy looked unhappy.

"Nurse wouldn't let us. She never will let us do a single nice thing."

"Oh, we'll manage Nurse. I'll tackle her."

"Will you really?"

Hope sprang up in their hearts.

"And what else?" they asked.

"I'm only a clumsy man, but I believe you can all use the needle. If we could have a little sewing party one day in the week, you could make clothes for some poor little kids who have none to wear, and I would see that they got them all right. But we should have to get Annette to cut the clothes out, and show you how to do them. I'm no good at that sort of thing."

"We don't like sewing," said Dreamikins, looking at her little friends; and Freda and Daffy both agreed with her.

"Of course, if you only want to do what you like—" began Fibo.

"We'll do it, Fibo dear, only you must tell us some most erciting stories all the time we work, and we must have an extry good tea after, to make up."

"I don't know that you need rewarding for doing good," said Fibo quietly.

"No, that we'll get inside heaven," said Dreamikins thoughtfully. "Perhaps we might try those two things."

"Yes," said Freda decidedly; "if Nurse lets Daffy and me do it, we will."

"And we can ask Mums," suggested Daffy.

Then they all brightened up, and Fibo said he wouldn't talk any more, not till next time; and then the little girls had a romp in the garden together till tea came, and they enjoyed themselves as they always did, and Freda and Daffy went home comforted.

"I always like," said Freda, "to feel there's something in front of us; and now there is."

[CHAPTER VIII]

A Day of Naughtiness

IT was only a few days after this that Freda and Daffy were playing in the garden, when Dreamikins suddenly appeared before them. She had no hat on; her curls were flying in the wind, her cheeks were hot, and her blue eyes dancing with mischief and excitement. Generally she was a dainty little person, and certainly kept her frocks much cleaner than Freda or Daffy. But now her white frock was splashed and stained with mud, and her white socks were torn and dirty.

"What's the matter?" asked Daffy.

Dreamikins danced up and down before them.

"I'm tarred out with Cherubine. I slapped her and sent her back to heaven. I'm tarred of being good, and I'm having a real wicked day. I felt tied up too tight, and now I'm stretching myself, or I really think I shall burst!"

Freda's eyes gleamed.

"Do tell us what you've been doing."

Dreamikins proceeded to give an account of her day in rapid breathless tones.

"It was because I woked too early, and I couldn't stay still in bed, and Cherubine said I oughted to, and all of a sudden I felt I'd had enough of her, and I tolded her so; and of course she didn't like it, and I said she was no fun no longer, I was tarred of her; and then she wouldn't go, so I slapped her, and of course that sent her flying away like lightning!"

"But how could you slap her?" questioned Daffy.

"Why, of course, I slapped on my chest just where she snuggles down next my heart."

Then Dreamikins paused in her dancing, and her eyes grew big.

"It's a awfully wicked thing to slap a angel!"

"I should think it was," said Freda. "I don't believe you did it. Go on; what did you do next?"

"I runned downstairs, and out into the garden in my nightie. I turned on all the water-taps everywhere and let them run, and then I kicked off my shoes and paddled where there was pools. Then Carrie came out of doors and tried to catch me, and I threwed stones at her, but she didn't care; and then she catched me, and I kicked her, and she didn't care; and then he carried me upstairs, and Annette was there to scold me!"

"What else?"

"Oh, I just went on and on. I threwed the soap out of the window, and lots of things besides, and when I was dressed I went downstairs and shut Drab into the larder, and mixed up some jam and butter together when Mrs. Daw wasn't looking. And when I'd finished breakfus, I just ran all over the house, and did all the mischief I ever could. I untidied all the tidy places, and I emptied all the boxes and drawers out on the floors, and I upset the ink. And then Fibo sent from his room for me, and I wouldn't go, and then I crawled through the door into your park, and I've been climbing trees, and catching tadpoles in the ditches, and I chased the sheeps, and then I comed off here. And now, what shall we do? Something really wicked it must be. I'm never going to be good again!"

"Then you'll never go to see that old sick woman," said Daffy.

"No, never, never!"

Dreamikins shook her curls defiantly.

"I'm so joyful not to have Cherubine. She got so tarsome, and I feel quite light and empty without her. Have you got any chickens? I opened our gate and let them run all over the flowers before I came away. Let's go and do something!"

Freda and Daffy looked at each other. They hardly knew this Dreamikins. She seemed to have turned into a little imp.

"You forget we have Nurse," said Freda soberly.

"Let's put out our tongues at her," suggested Dreamikins.

But neither Freda nor Daffy would allow this, nor would they agree to go to the poultry yard and work havoc there. Then Dreamikins seized hold of Bertie, who was playing on the lawn by himself.

"I know what we'll do," she said; "we'll make Bertie into a Red Indian. Have you any paints?"

"Yes," said Freda delightedly, "in our paint-boxes. I'll go and get some."

Off she ran to the house; then Daffy and Dreamikins took Bertie off to a secluded corner of the flower-garden where there was an empty shed used by the gardener for his tools and flowerpots. Unfortunately, upon a shelf Dreamikins found some green paint. She seized upon it.

"Oh, we'll make him a green Indian. Let's undress him."

But Freda, coming back, wouldn't allow this.

"You can take off his jacket and knicks, but he would take cold if he hadn't something on."

She and Daffy eagerly watched Dreamikins as she dabbed Bertie with spots of green paint all over his body. He was quite willing to be painted. His hair, his cheeks, his fat chubby arms and legs, were liberally sprinkled with the paint. His little vest was striped with it. The children shrieked with laughter when they saw how funny he looked. And then Bertie grew excited, and danced up and down, and in the middle of it Nurse swept down upon them. She had heard their laughter and screams, and Freda and Daffy shrank into a corner of the shed, thoroughly ashamed of themselves. Not so Dreamikins. She waved her paint brush in front of Nurse, and besprinkled her white cotton dress with paint.

"He's a green Indian, and I'll make you one too," she cried, and then, as Nurse furiously laid hands upon her, Dreamikins fled out of her reach, and raced across the lawn, singing as she went:

"There was a Haughty Dragon,
Her name was Mrs. Nurse!
She was a horrid woman,
She couldn't well be worse."

By this time Dreamikins was feeling rather tired, so she crept into her uncle's garden again by the little door, and half an hour after, Annette found her fast asleep in a wheelbarrow which had some freshly mown grass in it.

Annette carried her up to bed and let her sleep there till two o'clock, when she woke her up and gave her some dinner.

Dreamikins ate her dinner silently. Her cheeks were flushed with sleep, and Annette sat by the window sewing, and wisely said nothing to her.

After she had finished her meal, she washed and dressed her in a fresh white frock.

"Now we'll go out for a walk," said Annette..

"Oh no, we won't," said Dreamikins. "I'm not going to do anything good to-day. I'm being wicked."

Annette looked helplessly at her charge.

"Your good uncle be very grieved, and he have a bad head to-day, and he lying down now. Will you go for to wake him and give him more pain?"

"I aren't going near Fibo, not yet I aren't. I'll take a walk by myself, Annette, and if you follow me I'll throw stones at you."

Dreamikins put on her hat, but would not look at her gloves; she threw those into a basin of water, and laughed at Annette's shocked face when she did so.

Then she sallied forth; but Annette secretly followed her. She said to Mrs. Daw as she was leaving the house:

"Miss Emmeline have not been like this for long long time. It is sad how evil she can behave, but her good uncle be the one to cure her, only she will not go to him."

Dreamikins marched on without looking behind her, till she came to the village. Then she turned her head, and saw Annette in the distance. She dashed round the corner of the street, and, seeing a cart and horse standing outside a house, in an instant sprang up into it, and hid herself under the seat, pulling an old rug entirely over her. No one saw her do it, and presently the carter came out and drove off. Annette was wildly hunting about for her little charge, and, after a fruitless search, went home, hoping that she would have arrived there before her.

Dreamikins lay still for a long time.

"I'm going a journey," she asserted to herself, "and I'll get away from everybody; and a good thing too!"

But she soon began to fidget, and at last, in sheer mischief, she put out her hand and sharply pinched the carter in the leg. He did not feel it at first; then he put down his great hand and came in contact with hers. In another minute he had dragged away the rug, and was staring at his passenger with astonished eyes.

"Well, I'm blest!" was all he could say.

And Dreamikins crept out, and laughed and clapped her hands.

"You didn't know I was there, did you, now? I'm having a nice drive."

"But where do 'ee come from, little Missy?"