ll try never to," said Irene humbly, and then the cottage was
reached, and the Vicar lifted her down, and led her into shelter.

After that, matters were soon arranged. One of the big boys at the
cottage was to take Peter home, and deliver him over safely, and he was to
take a note of explanation and reassurance, and a request for clothes for
Irene, which he would bring by train, and then take home the pony and cart
which the Vicar was borrowing to transport the poor little patient to the
Vicarage.

Irene did not demur at anything. She could only smile the gratitude she
felt; after her last outburst she had become exhausted. When lifted into
the cart she half sat, half lay in the bottom of it, rolled in blankets,
seemingly only half conscious of what was happening.

When the little cart at last drew up at the Vicarage, Audrey was standing
at the door looking out. The rain had ceased by that time, and the air
was laden with a sweet freshness which told that the storm had passed.
When she saw the cart draw up, she thought only that her father had had a
lift homewards--as they had hoped he would. Then she saw that he was
holding the reins, and was apparently alone in the cart, and at the same
moment he caught sight of her and beckoned to her vigorously.

"I have Irene Vivian here," he said. "She has met with an accident.
Hold the pony's head, dear, while I lift her out, and carry her into the
house. We must get a room ready, and get her to bed as soon as possible,
with hot blankets and bottles. You will know what to do, Audrey."

Audrey did not. She did not know in the least what to do. She should
have felt flattered by her father's confidence in her, but she only felt
ashamed.

And the spare room, where Irene must go! It was she knew, in a state of
neglect and confusion. In her anxiety to speak to Faith and Mary, Audrey
almost let the pony go, and ran into the house.

Fortunately, though, when Irene was safely deposited on the ground, stiff
and bruised though she was, she could, she declared, walk through the
garden to the house. "I am not so faint now; I feel better already.
Oh, Audrey, I am so sorry to come and give you so much trouble. I am sure
I shall be able to get home when--when I have rested. I am nearly all
right."

But when she, with the same, reeled and almost fell, Mr. Carlyle picked
her up bodily, and carried her quickly into the house. "You are not to
talk any more," he commanded per