When Flora entered the sitting-room she found Bonnie May standing in uneasy contemplation. “Mother says I’m to put you to bed,” said Miss Baron. “Why didn’t she go ahead and put me to bed herself?” Flora perceived that the question was not wanting in sincerity. She decided to answer quite honestly. “I think,” she ventured gently, “you must have said something to vex her.” “Not at all. She tried to vex me. I behaved very properly.” Flora sighed and shook her head slowly; but she was smiling, too. She was wondering what it really was that had gone wrong. “Possibly you didn’t want to obey her?” she ventured. The child’s brow puckered. “But why should I want to obey her?” “Why--because she’s going to be good to you, I’m sure.” “Well, I mean to be good to her, too--if she’ll let me. And I don’t ask her to obey me.” “But it’s different. She’s an old lady.” “Well, I’ve got no patience with old people. It’s all right, just as a _part_, but there’s no use putting it on all the time.” “But, dear,” implored Flora, drawing the child within the curve of her arm, “don’t say that! I know you mean to be nice and kind, but truly you don’t understand. We must all grow old some time--even you will get to be old.” The guest gave deliberate thought to this; then her expression became resolute. “Well, if they ever hang any gray hairs on me they’ll have to catch me when I’m asleep--I’ll tell you that right now.” Miss Baron was not encouraged to argue the point any further. She resumed the subject of going to bed. “You know I’m to have his room--your brother’s?” the guest insisted. “Mother said you might sleep where you liked.” “Did she say that?” “Almost exactly.” “Well, where is that attic room?” “It’s up one more flight of stairs--under the roof.” The child looked quite wistful and earnest, and then her words came with conviction. “I just couldn’t sleep up there. Attics are where misers sleep, and poor children. It’s where people die of hunger and cold. It’s never the right kind of people. Come, let’s go to his room.” And so they did. “You won’t mind my helping you?” pleaded Flora. “Helping me?” “To undress, you know--and to be tucked in!” The guest looked at her unresponsively. “But I’ve been used to doing that for myself,” she said. Flora quickly stooped and took her into her arms impulsively. “Dear child,” she cried, her voice tremulous, “let me do it to-night! I think you’ll love it--and I’ll love it, too.” She drew the perplexed face almost roughly against her own. She did not wait to be refused. She hurried into the bathroom and busied herself; she was singing a little crooning song. There was also the noise of water splashing into the tub. She reappeared presently. “The water is ready--for your bath, you know, and I’ve left one of my nighties there for you.” She smiled happily. “Of course it will be too big. I’ll make you some little ones soon.”