"I shall not, you shall do it yourself if you have to stay here all day. I shall speak to father about your behaviour, and I do think you might have tried to behave decently and not have made such a noise when Joan is ill, and we want her to sleep. You think of no one but yourselves--you two." "Joan ill! You might have told us before. How were we to know? and--and you were making more noise than anybody, and--and it was all your fault in the beginning," cried Tom. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself Audrey, you are the eldest, and--and you knew Joan was ill." Debby was less angry, and more concerned. "Where is Joan?" she asked anxiously. "Is she in bed?" "She is in the kitchen by the fire, so don't go there making a noise too. You had better play in the garden, and do be as quiet as you can." "I am going to see mother first," retorted Debby, "we always do when we are dressed. Mummy likes us to. And we don't make a noise if we _know_ we mustn't. If you had only told us Joan was ill----" But Audrey was already half-way down the stairs, on her way to the kitchen. "Children are such worries," she sighed. "Now I will get mother's breakfast." In the kitchen she found Faith sitting patiently by the fire, she was scarlet with the heat, and very weary, but there was a look of relief in her eyes. "She is sleeping so comfortably," she whispered. "That shows that she is in less pain, doesn't it?" "I should think so. You look awfully hot." "Hot! I am roasting, I feel quite faint every now and then, but I don't mind anything if it is doing Joan good." "Can't you put her down? Make her up a bed on a chair or something, can't you?" "No. She rouses at once if I try to put her out of my arms. I would rather hold her. It doesn't matter about being hot. I shall cool down again some day." Audrey picked up a tray. "I am going to get mother's breakfast," she announced. "I want to make it look nice. Mary, can you wipe this tray for me, it has something sticky on it." Mary put down her saucepan of milk and went away with the tray in her hand. "I s'pose it must have touched something," she said cheerfully. "Yes, evidently--and you couldn't have washed it properly. It has made my hands sticky too." It really was aggravating, for she had only just washed them. "Where can I find a clean tray-cloth, Mary?" "In the drawer of the press, miss." Audrey's face wore an expression of deep disdain as she turned over the collection of things in the untidy drawer. "I can't see anything fit to use," she said irritably. "Where are the clean ones kept, Mary?" "We have only two, miss, one is in the wash, the other you've got in your hand. It is a bit crumpled, I am afraid."