ords in
pencil on a card, and in her excitement, Sarah had hardly noticed her.

"Will you give this to Dr. Gower when he comes in?" said Miss
Goldy-hair, and Sarah made a little curtsey and begged her pardon for
not having seen her.

"Dr. Gower knows me," she said to Sarah; "but please do not say anything
to him about my having brought the children home, as I would rather
explain it myself."

Then she turned to go, but we all clung about her. "Oh, Miss Goldy-hair,
Miss Goldy-hair," we cried, "you're not going away."

"I must, dears," she said, "but I shall be sure to see you to-morrow. I
am going to ask your uncle to let you come and have dinner and tea with
me."

"But p'raps the new nurse'll come to-morrow, and she'll whip us," sobbed
Racey.

Miss Goldy-hair looked quite distressed.

"No, dear," she said. "I'm sure your uncle wouldn't let her."

"Will you turn early, _kite_ early?" Racey begged.

"Yes, that I can promise you," she answered.

But I too had some last words.

"Miss Goldy-hair," I said, "you told me you wouldn't tell Uncle Geoff?"

"Not without your leave, dear, I said," she replied. "But don't you
think it would be better to tell him? Won't you trust me to tell him?"

"But not Mrs. Partridge," I pleaded.

"No, I don't think we need tell Mrs. Partridge."

"Well, then I'll let you tell Uncle Geoff, and if he writes to mother
that we're naughty you'll write too, won't you?"

[Illustration: "Can't you trust me, Audrey?"]

"Wait till to-morrow and we'll talk it all over. Can't you trust me,
Audrey?"

She bent down and looked in my face. I looked at her for a minute
without speaking. I liked to be _sure_ before I said a thing, always. So
I looked right into her face, but I won't tell you what I thought,
because _somebody_ that's going to read this over might be vexed. And
all I _said_ was, "Yes, Miss Goldy-hair."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER X.

TOM'S SORE THROAT.

"Plenty of jelly and nice things to eat,
And we'll hope he'll be better to-morrow."

I woke very early the next morning. I woke with that queer feeling that
everybody knows, of something having happened. And before I was awake
enough in my mind even to get a distinct thought of what it was that had
happened, I yet had a feeling that it was something pleasant. For the
first time since mother had gone I woke without that terrible feeling of
loneliness that had been getting worse and worse every