erything was ready for Margaret upstairs, and then she walked
her and the red bundle off--to put her to bed.

I really think that by this time Margaret was so tired that she scarcely
knew where she was: she did not make the least objection, but was as
meek as a mouse. You would never have thought her the same child as the
determined little 'ordering-about' sort of child I knew she could be,
and I, rather suspected, generally _had_ been till she came under
stricter management.

When she was alone with us--with Peterkin and me--Mrs. Wylie spoke a
little more about the whole affair. But not very much. She had evidently
made up her mind to leave things in mamma's hands. And she did not at
all explain any of the sort of mystery there seemed about Margaret.

She rang the bell and told Browner to take us upstairs to the little
room that had been got ready for us, and where we were to sleep, saying,
that she herself was now going to write to mamma.

'_And_ to Miss Bogle,' she added, 'though I thought it better not to say
so to Margaret.'

She looked at us rather curiously as she spoke; I think she most likely
wanted to find out what we really believed about 'the witch.' Peterkin
started, and grew very red.

'You won't let her go back there?' he exclaimed. 'I'm sure she'll run
away again if you do.'

It sounded rather rude, but Mrs. Wylie knew that he did not mean it for
rudeness. She only looked at him gravely.

'I am very anxious to see how your little friend is to-morrow morning,'
she replied. 'I earnestly hope she has not caught any serious cold.'

The way she said it frightened me a little somehow, though we children
often caught cold and didn't think much about it. But then we were all
strong. None of us ever coughed the way Margaret used to about that
time, except when we had hooping-cough, and it wasn't that that she had
got, I knew.

'You don't think she is going to be badly ill?' I said, feeling as if it
would be all my fault if she was.

Mrs. Wylie only repeated that she hoped not.

We couldn't do much in the way of dressing or tidying ourselves up, as
we had nothing with us, not even a red bundle. We could only wash our
faces and hands, which were _black_ with the fog, so having them clean
was an improvement. And there was a very pretty brush and comb put out
for us--Beryl's own. I think it was awfully good of her to lend us her
nice things like that. I don't believe Blanchie would have done it,
though