I will come down and help."

They stood at the door a few moments talking in low tones, and as
Georgie started to turn away, Patty's step suddenly sounded in the
corridor. She came in with a queer smile on her lips, and sat down on
the couch.

"The warden has certainly reduced the matter of scaring people to a
fine art," she said. "I was never more frightened in my life. I thought
that the least that had happened was an earthquake which had engulfed
the entire family."

"What was the matter?" Georgie and Priscilla asked in a breath.

Patty spread out a crumpled telegram on her knee, and the girls read it
over her shoulder:

Robert died of an overdose of chloroform at ten
this morning. Funeral to-morrow.

THOMAS M. WYATT.

"Thomas M. Wyatt," said Patty, grimly, "is my small brother Tommy, and
Robert is short for Bobby Shafto, which was the name of Tommy's bull
pup, the homeliest and worst-tempered dog that was ever received into
the bosom of a respectable family."

"But why in the world did he telegraph?"

"It's a joke," said Patty, shaking her head dejectedly. "Joking runs in
the family, and we've all inherited the tendency. One time my
father--but, as my friend Kipling says, that's another story. This dog,
you see--this Robert Shafto--has cast a shadow over my vacations for
more than a year. He killed my kitten, and ate my Venetian lace
collar--it didn't even give him indigestion. He went out and wallowed in
the rain and mud and came in and slept on my bed. He stole the beefsteak
for breakfast and the rubbers and door-mats for blocks around. Property
on the street appreciably declined, for prospective purchasers refused
to purchase so long as Tommy Wyatt kept a dog. Robert was threatened
with death time and again, but Tommy always managed to conceal him from
impending justice until the trouble had blown over. But this time I
suppose he committed some supreme enormity--probably chewed up the baby
or one of my father's Persian rugs, or something like that. And Tommy,
knowing how I detested the beast, evidently thought it would be a good
joke to telegraph, though wherein lies the point I can't make out."

"Ah, I see," said Georgie; "and Mrs. Richards thought that Robert was a
relation. What did she say?"

"She said, 'Come in, Patty dear,' when I knocked on the door. Usually
when I have had the honor of being received by her she has somewhat
frigid