Miss Leslie said she wouldn’t mind in the least, and by that time Mary had opened the front door, in answer to Uncle Stephen’s ring, and the good-byes had to be said. “I feel just the way I’m sure Cinderella must have felt when she got back from the ball,” remarked Dulcie, throwing herself wearily on the nursery sofa. “That’s the only trouble about having good times; everything seems so dull when they’re over.” “I don’t mind,” said cheerful Daisy. “Just think what fun we’re going to have talking it all over. I don’t think we shall ever feel quite so lonely again, now that we know Uncle Stephen and Miss Leslie.” “I don’t see what good they can be to us away off in California,” objected Molly, who was sharing some of Dulcie’s depression. “But we’ve promised to write to them both,” argued Daisy, “and that will be very interesting. I wonder how soon it will do to write our first letter.” “I think we might write just a short one to Uncle Stephen to-morrow,” said Molly. “It would be polite to tell him again what a beautiful time we had, don’t you think so?” Nobody answered, and there was a short silence, which Maud broke. “I don’t think I want any dinner,” she remarked, with a long sigh. “There’s going to be corned beef, there always is on Saturday, and I hate corned beef. I’d like some more ice-cream, but I don’t want anything else to eat. My head aches, and I think I’m going to have another sore throat.” CHAPTER IV THE SINGING LADY Maud’s sore throats were one of the greatest trials to her sisters. Not only were they of frequent occurrence, but they were always regarded by Grandma in the light of an especial grievance to herself, for which somebody must be held responsible. If Maud had lived in the present day, some doctor would probably have decided that her tonsils needed to be removed, but in 1880 people did not think so much about operations, and the family physician contented himself with prescribing simple remedies, and the advice that the child should be kept out of draughts, and not allowed to get her feet wet. Maud’s prediction on the present occasion proved only too true. In the middle of the night Daisy was aroused by a feverish demand from her little sister, for a drink of water, and by morning Maud could not swallow without considerable difficulty, and the too familiar white spots had appeared on her throat. Of course Grandma had to be told, and the consequence was a severe lecture to the other three, which lasted all through breakfast. “I might have known what would happen when I let you all go off yesterday,” grumbled Mrs. Winslow, as she prepared Maud’s gargle in the nursery after breakfast. “I don’t suppose it ever occurred to one of you to see that the child did not sit in her warm coat all the afternoon.” “Miss Leslie made her take off her coat,” protested Daisy, “and I don’t really think she got over-heated or anything.”