Miss Patty did not say much. She was holding her chin high and looking
rather angry and determined. At the spring-house I gave her the basket
and took an armful of fire-wood myself. I knew Mr. Dick would never
think of it until the fire was out.

They were both asleep in the shelter-house. He was propped up against
the wall on a box, with the rubber carriage robe around him, and she was
lying by the fire, with Mrs. Moody's shawl over her and her muff under
her head. Miss Patty stood in the doorway for an instant. Then she
walked over and, leaning down, shook her sister by the arm.

"Dorothy!" she said. "Wake up, you wretched child!" And shook her again.

Mrs. Dicky groaned and yawned, and opened her eyes one at a time.

But when she saw it was Miss Patty she sat up at once, looking dazed and
frightened.

"You needn't pinch me, Pat!" she said, and at that Mr. Dick wakened and
jumped up, with the carriage robe still around him.

"Oh, Dolly, Dolly!" said Miss Patty suddenly, dropping on her knees
beside Mrs. Dicky, "what a bad little girl you are! What a thing for you
to do! Think of father and Aunt Honoria!"

"I shan't," retorted Mrs. Dicky decidedly. "I'm not going to spoil my
honeymoon like that. For heaven's sake, Pat, don't cry. I'm not dead.
Dick, this is my sister, Patricia."