make
up."

"I know it," Betty said, unexpectedly reasonable, "but as it happens
I'm not. Collier Pratt really is up-stairs with a poor little orphan
in tow. Ask any one of the girls."

At this moment Dolly, her ribbons awry and her china-blue eyes widened
with excitement, appeared with a dramatic confirmation of Betty's
astonishing announcement.

"There's a little girl took sick from the peaches, and moved up-stairs
in the room next to Gaspard's," she cried breathlessly. "The doctor
that was sitting at the next table, had her moved right up there. He
wants to see the lady that runs the restaurant, and he wants a lot of
hot water in a pitcher, and some baking soda."

"You see," Betty said, "go on up, I'll take your place here. Dolly,
get the things the doctor asked for."

Nancy stripped off her cap and her apron and resigned her spoons and
ladles to Betty without a word. She was still incredulous of what she
would find at the top of the three flights of creaking age-worn stairs
that separated her from the nest of rooms that were the storm quarters
of her hostelry, now converted by a sudden malevolence on the part of
fate into a temporary hospital. As she took the last flight she could
hear Gaspard's stertorous breathing coming at the regular intervals of
distressful slumber, and through that an ominous murmur of grave and
low-voiced conference, such as one hears in the chambers of the dead.
The convulsive application of a powder puff to the tip of her burning
nose--her whole face was aflame with exertion and excitement--was
merely a part of her whole subconscious effort to get herself in hand
for the exigency. Her mind, itself, refused any preparation for the
scene that awaited her.

On one of the cushioned benches against the wall in the most
decorative of the dining-rooms of the up-stairs suite, a little girl
was lying stark against the brilliant blue of the upholstery. She was
a child of some seven or eight, lightly built and delicate of features
and dressed all in black. Her eyes were closed, but the long lashes
emphasizing the shadows in which they were set, prepared you for the
revelation of them. Nancy understood that they were Collier Pratt's
eyes, and that they would open presently, and look wonderingly up at
her. She recognized the presence of Dr. Sunderland, of Michael and
several of the waitresses, and a flighty woman in blue taffeta--an
ubiquitous patron,--but she made her way past them at once, and