It was time for rapid thought. Another moment and the fine
dramatic work of the morning would have gone for naught. For a
moment Dorothea staggered, but for a moment only. "I didn't tell
you everything," she said mysteriously. "Your mother is not alone
in the bed. She is holding something in her arms. She is
saying--" she paused to give her climax its full effect-- "`Oh,
why doesn't Jennie come home to see her little sister?'"

"Her little--?--Dorothea!"

It behooves the villain to be without conscience. No slightest
shame visited the brazen one's heart at the sight of Jennie's
instant joy and excitement. Modestly she accepted the tribute to
her uncanny power; obligingly she assisted her friend to pack;
martyr-like she acquiesced in Jennie's decision that the first
train after breakfast would be none too early to bear her to that
long-coveted delight--a baby sister. Moreover, she cannily
advised her friend as to the mode of proceeding. "If you tell
them downstairs why you are going, they may not let you. They
don't know about visions. Just tell them that you're going home
and NOTHING ELSE."

This advice, followed to the letter, produced no little agitation
at the breakfast table. Jennie simply announced her intention of
immediate departure; all questions as to her health, happiness,
and possible reasons were met only with a parrot-like repetition
of the fact. Upon closer pressing she gave way to hysterical
tears, Dorothea the while assisting the scene with round,
innocent eyes and the bewildered air of one suddenly made aware
of an impending event.