will lie still in the water if they think they are
drowning, and some one is trying to save them. It came to something very
like a fight. Hilda fought and struggled. Rupert got out of his
fire-guards and added himself and his tea-tray to the scrimmage. Hugh
slid down to the knob of the banisters and sat there yelling. The
servants came rushing in.

But by that time the fire was out. And Sidney gasped out, 'It's all
right. You aren't burned, Hilda, are you?'

Hilda was much too frightened to know whether she was burnt or not, but
Eliza looked her over, and it turned out that only her neck was a little
scorched, and a good deal of her hair frizzled off short.

Every one stood, rather breathless and pale, and every one's face was
much dirtier than customary, except Hugh's, which he had, as usual,
dirtied thoroughly quite early in the afternoon. Rupert felt perfectly
awful, ashamed and proud and rather sick. 'You're a regular hero,
Sidney,' he said--and it was not easy to say--'and yesterday I said you
were a related muff. And I'm jolly sorry I did. Shake hands, won't you?'

Sidney hesitated.

'Too proud?' Rupert's feelings were hurt, and I should not wonder if he
spoke rather fiercely.

'It's--it's a little burnt, I think,' said Sidney, 'don't be angry,' and
he held out the left hand.

Rupert grasped it.

'I do beg your pardon,' he said, 'you _are_ a hero!'

* * * * *

Sidney's hand was bad for ever so long, but we were tremendous chums
after that.

It was when they'd done the hand up with scraped potato and salad oil--a
great, big, fat, wet plaster of it--that I said to him:

'I don't care if you don't like games. Let's be pals.'

And he said, 'I do like games, but I couldn't care about anything with
mother so ill. I know you'll think I'm a muff, but I'm not really, only
I do love her so.'

And with that he began to cry, and I thumped him on the back, and told
him exactly what a beast I knew I was, to comfort him.

When Aunt Ellie was well again we kept Christmas on the 6th of January,
which used to be Christmas Day in middle-aged times.

Father came home before New Year, and he had a silver medal made, with a
flame on one side, and on the other Sidney's name, and 'For Bravery.'

If I had not been tied up in fire-guards and tea-trays perhaps I should
have thought of the rug and got the medal. But I do not grudge it to
Sidney. He deserved it. And he is not a muff. I see