e aired by the time you are
ready for it."

Faith looked at her sister admiringly, almost enviously. She would have
found it very difficult to have provided Irene with the necessary garment,
for she had but three to her name, and all were more or less buttonless
and torn. If the younger Carlyles had nightgowns enough to go round, they
thought themselves fortunate; to have different ones for summer and winter
was a luxury they never dreamed of. "Oh--and, Audrey," Faith cried
eagerly, "do lend Irene your pretty dressing-gown too."

"I was going to," responded Audrey stiffly--Faith never gave one a chance
to be gracious--"if you had given me----" She drew herself up sharply,
with a genuine effort to master her vexation.

"I will run up and see about getting the bath ready," said Faith.
"It won't take more than ten minutes. Irene, use my room if you will,
until your own is ready. Audrey, you will help her to take off her wet
boots and stockings, won't you? I'll call Mary to come and make the bed."

Within an hour Irene lay in the bed, rolled up in a blanket, with a
hot-water bottle at her back, and a hot brick at her feet, for, after all,
there was only one bottle in the house that did not leak, and that was
Audrey's. She was very hot, but she felt revived and cheerful.

Faith came into the room with a cup of steaming tea, and some
bread-and-butter on a tray. She had profited by Audrey's example
sufficiently to remember to put a tray-cloth over it, and to try to make
it look dainty. Irene turned a hot but grateful face towards her.
"How good you all are to me!" she said.

Audrey was standing by the fire, looking from the creeping flames to the
dust upon the mantelpiece. She wished Mary had dusted the room a little.
It did not occur to her that Mary could not possibly have found the time;
that she had been flying round ever since Irene's arrival making the bed,
lighting the fire, pushing furniture into place, putting up curtains, and
filling the hot-water bottle; that since then she had spread Irene's
clothes to dry, and had made her tea.

"This room is dreadfully dusty," she said at last, feeling that she must
apologise for it. "I am very, very sorry, Irene."

"Oh, don't worry about me," said Irene cheerfully. "You leave it until I
get up again. I will dust all the house for you then, out of sheer
gratitude."

Audrey did not reply, but with heightened colour she walked away, and
returned a few minute