As she approached the back premises, Dulcie noticed that a horse and buggy were standing outside the kitchen door. The buggy was empty, and the horse was fastened to the hitching-post. It was also evident from the sound of voices in the kitchen that Bridget was entertaining visitors. Dulcie paused a moment before going in, and as she did so, some words fell upon her ears, which set her heart beating so fast that she could scarcely breathe. “It was the madam herself told me,” Bridget was saying. “She read out the message, and then she says, ‘the children don’t know a thing about it,’ she says, ‘and he wants it kept from them till he can tell them himself.’” “It’s just too awful, that’s what it is!” cried another voice. “I never thought he’d do it, him such a nice, kind gentleman, and so fond of the first one, too. Oh, the poor lambs; the poor lambs!” Dulcie knew that voice, although it was many months since she had heard it last. Impulsively she hurried forward, regardless of the fact that there were several persons in the kitchen, including a strange young man, with freckles, and very red hair, and in another moment her arms were round the neck of a stout, pleasant-faced young woman, and she was hugging her tight, and laughing and crying both together. The young woman returned Dulcie’s embrace heartily, and at the same time began to cry. “Oh, my precious!” she cried, “I couldn’t keep away another minute, I just couldn’t. I heard you’d moved up for the summer, and I said to Michael--that’s my husband, dear--I said ‘you’ve got to drive me over to the old place this afternoon. I’ve got to see those precious children,’ I said. I didn’t think your grandma’d have any objections, seeing as I’m married, and couldn’t come back even if she’d have me, but O dear, O dear! I never thought to hear such dreadful news.” And the young woman--who was a very emotional person--began to sob more violently than ever. “But there isn’t any dreadful news, Lizzie; I don’t know what you mean,” faltered Dulcie, who was still clinging round her old nurse’s neck. “Papa is coming home. Grandma had a telegram from him this morning, and he may be home to-morrow.” “Yes, yes, my darling, I know all about it, but how is he coming home, that’s the question? How is he coming home to the dear little trusting children who love him so much?” “Lizzie, what is it?” cried Dulcie, in sudden terror; “has something terrible happened to Papa, that we don’t know about? Is he ill?” “No, no, dearie, he’s well enough, I guess, but--do stop making signs to me, Bridget; there’s no reason why she shouldn’t be told. They’ve all got to know soon.” “Know what?” questioned Dulcie, gazing with big frightened eyes from one face to another. “Something has happened to Papa, I know it has, and nobody will tell us. Oh! oh!” And Dulcie burst into tears, and hid her face on Lizzie’s shoulder.