Queenie loved a romance and a mystery better than anything in the world besides; and the task of keeping Phil hidden away for several days, and of secretly supplying him with food and all other necessaries, seemed to be the most delightful and romantic occupation that could possibly be desired. She made many plans and revolved many ideas in her busy little brain as she lay awake in bed that night. Where was Phil to hide? Where would he be safest? Where could he be certain of remaining undiscovered, and yet near enough for her to have easy access to his hiding-place and be able to visit him at will without attracting attention or suspicion by doing so? For a long time this problem remained unsolved; but at last a gleam of inspiration burst upon her. “The ruin!” she cried, speaking aloud in her excitement, though luckily there was no one near enough to hear. “The ruin, of course!—down in the underground part. He will never be seen there, and I can carry him food whenever I like. I often play in the ruin. Nurse will never think anything about it if I go there every day.” “The ruin” was the remains of an old tower that might once have been a large building, but of which only a very small portion now remained. Children always seem oddly attracted by anything in the way of a tumble-down building, and all the young Arbuthnots were much delighted with their ruin. Queenie thought it would be a lovely place to hide Phil in, never considering in her youthful inexperience how exceedingly cold and damp and uncomfortable would be the accommodation afforded by the ancient cellar of the ruined habitation. When she had settled all the details of her plan with great exactness, she settled herself to sleep, and awoke in the morning brimful of zeal and energy, longing for their satisfactory accomplishment. At breakfast-time she watched her opportunity, and conveyed supplies from the table to her own private cupboard, and restricted her own share of the delicacies offered to the minimum, in order that Phil should have plenty. Queenie’s nursery breakfast was a less simple affair than Bertie’s, and she was able to set aside sufficient good things to feel quite comfortable as to Phil’s morning repast. Queenie did not go out till ten o’clock, as she always had to practise her music and do some reading with her nurse between nine and ten. To-day she found the task sadly irksome. She was so inattentive that nurse had to speak to her again and again; and as for the tiresome scales, they seemed as if they could not go right this morning, and Queenie got so cross that she fairly belabored the poor old piano with two angry little fists, making it give out the most discordant sounds. “Really, Miss Queenie,” said nurse, looking up from her work in surprise, “I cannot think what has come to you to-day.”