o, Basil. You are to light the fire for the gypsy tea."

"It's lighting."

"Well, it's going out again. I know it is; or the kettle is sure to
boil over, or something. Do be on the spot, and let Ermie make herself
useful for once in a way."

Ermengarde ran off; the tension of her feelings would permit of no
further delay. She heard Basil scolding Marjorie as she hurried across
the hay-field. Ermengarde had never run so fast in her life. What
should she find when she got back to that sitting-room. Would Susy be
dead? If so----But her terrified thoughts would take her no further.

She was not a particularly active little girl, and her quick running
soon deprived her of breath. Oh, what a distance lay between that
hay-field and the house! At last the lawn was gained, then the gravel
sweep, then the side-door. She could only totter upstairs, and by the
time she reached Miss Nelson's room she was really almost fainting.

She managed to stagger across to the cupboard, unlocked it, and then
sank down in a chair. Susy instantly made her appearance; she was not
dead, but she was extremely red in the face and very angry.

"You did serve me a trick, Miss Ermie! Oh, my word, I didn't think as
you'd treat me as bad as that! Why, I might have been--I thought I was
to be suffocated, miss."

"Never mind now," said Ermengarde. "I'm ever so sorry; I----" Her
voice faltered. In her relief and thankfulness at finding Susy alive
and well, she went up to the little girl and kissed her. Then she
burst into tears.

"Miss Ermie!"

If Susan Collins was fond of anyone, it was Ermengarde.

"Don't you take on, miss," she said affectionately.

Ermie's tears touched her so much that she felt she would have endured
another half-hour of the cupboard to help her.

"Don't cry, please, Miss Ermie," said Susy. "I know you couldn't help
yourself. I didn't want you to have a scolding; no, that I didn't; so
it's all right, miss; I'm none the worse. I was a bit choky in the
cupboard, but I'm as well as ever now."

Ermengarde soon dried her tears.

"I must go back to the hay-field at once," she said, "I'll leave you
now, Susy. Don't be long here. Run downstairs while there's no one
about. Good-by, Susy. I'm glad you are not hurt."

Ermengarde nodded to Susan Collins, and with a light heart left the
room. She went to the nursery, secured the baby's rusks, and returned
to the hay-field.

During the rest of that evening no one seemed happier, o