“It’s only I, Grandma,” she faltered, and try as she might, she could not keep the tremor altogether out of her voice. Mrs. Winslow stepped out into the hall. “What is that you are carrying so carefully?” she inquired, suspiciously. “It’s--it’s just a little ice-cream, and some cakes that were left from the lunch party. Bridget gave them to me for Maud. Maud was crying over a story Dulcie told, and----” “Never mind about explanations,” interrupted Grandma, frowning. “You all know perfectly well that you are not allowed to eat between meals, or to bring food up-stairs. Take those things directly back to the kitchen. I shall speak to Bridget about this to-morrow morning.” The tears started to Daisy’s blue eyes. “Oh, Grandma,” she pleaded, “please do let us have it, just this once. Maud loves ice-cream so much, and she hardly ever has any. You see, it was this way: Maud made up a story about a little beggar girl we see sometimes. We think she must be a stolen child, because she has blue eyes and golden hair; stolen children always have in books, and we like to make up things about her. This was a very sad story, but we didn’t think Maud----” “I am not interested in all that nonsense,” interrupted Grandma, impatiently. “Do as I tell you, and never let me hear of your bringing food up-stairs again without permission.” Daisy’s lip quivered, but she dared not disobey, and with a sigh that was half a sob, she turned away, and went slowly down-stairs again. When she returned to the nursery, five minutes later, she was relieved to find that Maud had stopped crying, and was standing with Molly, eagerly looking out of the window. “They’re beginning to dance,” announced Maud. “The gas is lit in the parlor, and they haven’t pulled down one shade.” “I suppose there wasn’t any cream left,” said Dulcie in a low voice. In their interest in the Van Arsdales’ party, the two younger ones had apparently forgotten the subject of food. “There was a little,” Daisy admitted, “and Bridget let me have it for Maud, and some cakes, too; but on the way up-stairs I met Grandma, and she made me take the things back to the kitchen. She said we were forbidden to bring food up here, or to eat between meals.” Dulcie’s eyes flashed. For a moment she did not speak, and then she said, slowly: “I hate Grandma, and some day I’m going to tell her so.” “Oh, Dulcie,” gasped Daisy, in horrified reproach, “you mustn’t say such things. It’s terribly wicked to hate people.” “I know it is,” said Dulcie, “and I suppose I must be a very wicked person. Perhaps I shall never go to heaven, but I do hate Grandma just the same, and there isn’t any use in pretending I don’t.” CHAPTER II A VISITOR