custom was, to cuddle in or hear a fairy story. To-night they were
good and businesslike.

"Good-night, duckies," said Mother, glancing at the clock on the
mantelpiece. "It's not _quite_ bed-time yet, but it's been a long day,
and you're tired out. I shall be up presently to hear your prayers and
tuck you up. And, Judy, you might tell Jackman--"

But the room was empty, the children vanished. The door banged softly,
cutting off the sentence in its middle, and Mother resumed her
knitting, smiling quietly to herself. And in the hall outside Come-
Back Stumper was discovered, warming his Army back before the open
fire of blazing logs. He looked like a cart-horse, the shadows made
him spread so. Maria pushed him to one side. She pushed, at least, but
he did not move exactly. Yet somehow, by a kind of sidling process, he
took up a new position in regard to the fire and themselves, the
result of which was that they occupied the best places, while he stood
at one corner in an attitude which resisted attack and yet invited it.

"Good-evening," remarked Maria; "are you warm?"

"Oh, no," exclaimed Tim, "that's not it at all. The thing is, shall we
play hide-and-seek, or would you really rather go to bed, as Mother
said, and have dinner and hot drinks?"

"Nonsense," cried Judy with authority. "He's got an awful cold, and
he's got to go to bed at once. He's shivering all over. It's Nindian
fever."

"No, really, really--" began Stumper, but was not allowed to finish.