neighbourhood, a bite from a mad dog, a chase by a mad bull, broken
limbs, runaway horses, a chimney on fire, or a young lady burning to
death. The lectures were not only delightful in themselves, but they
furnished us with a whole set of new games, for Henrietta and I
zealously practised every emergency as far as the nature of things
would allow. Covering our faces with wet cloths to keep off the smoke,
we crept on our hands and knees to rescue a fancy cripple from an
imaginary burning house, because of the current of air which Rupert
told us was to be found near the floor. We fastened Baby Cecil's left
leg to his right by pocket-handkerchiefs at the ankle, and above and
below the knee, pretending that it was broken, and must be kept steady
till we could convey him to the doctor. But for some unexplained
reason Baby Cecil took offence at this game, and I do not think he
could have howled and roared louder under the worst of real compound
fractures. We had done it so skilfully, that we were greatly disgusted
by his unaccommodating spirit, and his obstinate refusal to be put
into the litter we had made out of Henrietta's stilts and a railway
rug. We put the Scotch terrier in instead; but when one end of the
litter gave way and he fell out, we were not sorry that the emergency
was a fancy one, and that no broken limbs were really dependent upon
our well-meant efforts.

There was one thing about Rupert's lectures which disappointed me. His
emergencies were all things that happened in the daytime. Now I should
not have liked the others to know that I was ever afraid of anything;
but, really and truly, I was sometimes a little frightened--not of
breaking my leg, or a house on fire, or an apoplectic fit, or anything
of that sort, but--of things in the dark. Every half-holiday I hoped
there would be something about what to do with robbers or ghosts, but
there never was. I do not think there can have been any emergencies of