Aunt Ninette hastened into her husband's room in great alarm, not knowing
what effect all this disturbance would have upon him. He was sitting
calmly at his table, with all the windows in the room closed and fastened.

"My dear Titus! who could have foreseen this? What shall we do?" she
called out in tones of despair.

"It strikes me that the next house has a great wealth of children. We
cannot help that, but we can keep the windows shut," replied her husband
resignedly.

"But, my dearest Titus, only remember that you have come here expressly
to breathe the healthy mountain air! As you never go out, you must let the
air come in to you. But what will be the end if this is the beginning?
What will become of us if this goes on?"

"We must go home again," said Uncle Titus, continuing to write.

Somewhat calmed by this proposition, Aunt Ninette returned to her room.

Dora had been very busy, putting her little room in perfect order, for she
had formed a plan, which she meant to carry out as soon as this was done.
The happy noise of the six children had so excited the lonely little girl
that she was filled with the strongest desire to see them come back again,
to see them get out of the carriage, and to see what would happen next;
whether they wouldn't perhaps come into the garden where the triumphal
arch stood, and then she could have a nearer view. She had made a little
plan for watching them if they came into the garden. She thought that she
might perhaps find a hole in the hedge that divided Mrs. Kurd's little
garden from the large grounds next door, through which she could get a