"Don't talk that way," pleaded Belle, beginning to cry again.
"We'll all do for you now, and you both will get better."

"Who's 'we all'? Would you mind telling me a little about who you
are, and how you came to get my place?"

Belle's brief sketch of herself, her history, and how the recent
events had come about, was very simple, but strong and original,
and left no doubt in her listener's mind.

"My gracious!" Clara cried, as the room darkened, "your folks'll
be wild about you. I've nothing to offer you but your own, and I've
kept you talking when you must have been tired and hungry, but you
are so full of life that you put a bit of life in me. It's ages
since I felt as you do, and I'll never feel so again. Now run home
with your mind at rest. You have done us more good than you have
harm, and you never meant us any harm at all."

"Indeed I did not," cried Belle, "but I'm not through with you
yet. I'll bring Millie back with me and a lot of things," and she
darted away.

The inmates of the two rooms at the Old Mansion were, indeed,
anxious over Belle's prolonged absence. Her father had gone to the
shop; Mrs. Wheaton, with her apron thrown over her head, was on the
sidewalk with Mildred, peering up and down through the dusk, when
the half-breathless girl appeared.

Her story was soon told, and Mrs. Wheaton was taken into their
confidence. From trembling apprehension on Belle's behalf, kind