The thought that was now filling the hearts of Peter’s sisters with dread, was the fact that the time was rapidly approaching when they must tell him that Sirius was dead. Each one wondered how and when it was to be done and who should be the one to do it. They finally decided upon Victoria. And so with an anxious heart, one afternoon Victoria went to her brother’s room. She knew that she should have no difficulty in introducing the subject, for Peter’s first question was always in regard to Sirius, and the sisters had found it almost impossible to answer him without arousing his suspicions. As she supposed would be the case, Victoria had scarcely crossed the threshold when she heard her brother’s somewhat querulous voice. “Vic, where is Sirius? It does seem very hard that I can’t see my own dog. He wouldn’t excite me, and he wouldn’t jump on the bed if I told him not to. It excites me a great deal more not to see him, than it would if he were here.” “I know, Peter dear!” said Victoria, going to the bed and sitting down upon the edge of it. “And there is nothing we would rather do, than bring Sirius to you. But we can’t. Will you try to bear it, Peter, when I tell you something very sad?” “What is it, Vic?” exclaimed Peter, in a low voice. “I know what you are going to say! Is Sirius dead?” Victoria nodded. Peter turned his face towards the wall. “Please go away,” he said, still in the same low voice, and Victoria left him. She returned in a short time to find him still in the same position. When she spoke to him he did not reply, and though she went again and again, it was always with the same result. “What are we to do with him?” she said later to her sisters. “He won’t speak, and he just lies there with his face turned away. If he would only cry about it!” “Peter won’t cry,” said Sophy. “He thinks it’s babyish. He was awful fond of Sirius, though. I’ve seen him kiss him often, on the top of his head, and he never likes to kiss anybody else. Oh dear, I wish I could do something to make him feel better!” The loving little sister’s eyes filled with tears, and she hid her face in Honor’s shoulder. “The trouble is,” said Victoria, “he thinks we’re only girls and so he won’t talk to us. If father were here, or Mr. Abbott, it would be better. I really believe Peter would speak to them. If we only had somebody!” It was unusual for Victoria’s courage to desert her, but it had all been very sad and depressing. Peter’s accident had unnerved her, and the subsequent dread of breaking the news to him, and then the disclosure itself, had been more of a strain than she realized. “I wish we had an older brother!” she said, and then greatly to the surprise of the others she too began to cry. “What a goose I am!” she sobbed. “But I do feel so sorry for Peter and for all of us, and I wish he would speak to us.” “I wonder if Mr. Madison would come and talk to him,” suggested Katherine.