"Sarah!" (It was not Peregrine now.) "_Stupid_--standing there like an _idiot_--my smelling salts! Won't _anyone_ call a doctor? My heart----" She shrieked again. "This _miserable_ place! These--_brats_!" "Maria Drinkwater, will you calm yourself enough to tell us what has happened?" Mrs. Westley shook ever so slightly the flanneletted shoulders. "_Happened_----" snapped Aunt Maria. "Is it not _enough_ to have my digestion spoiled by dogs and mice and boys but--oh, my poor heart, to find a _mouse_ under my pillow----" If the children had not been struck quite dumb by Aunt Maria's grotesque face, with its wrinkles, they must surely have shouted aloud! The third little mouse had sought refuge in Aunt Maria's bed! Peregrine-Sarah and Mrs. Westley spent most of the night ministering vainly to Aunt Maria's nerves. The next day, unforgiving, she departed, bag and baggage. Poor Isobel, thus burst the pretty bubble of her dreams! "I don't care, they've spoiled my whole life," she wailed, tears reddening her eyes. "_Who_ spoiled it--who did anything?" laughed Graham. "What's this all about?" asked Uncle Johnny coming in at that moment. Gyp told him what had happened. She talked too fast to permit of any interruption; her story was Gyp-like. "_You_ say, Uncle Johnny, _did_ we break our promise just 'cause a poor little mouse hid under her pillow?" "If it hadn't been for that miserable dog----" Isobel saw an opportunity for sweet revenge. "Mother, why don't you send it away? You made Graham give back that Airedale puppy Mr. Saunders sent him; I don't think it's fair to keep this horrid old mongrel!" Jerry's face darkened. Graham came hotly to Pepper's rescue. "He's _not_ a mongrel--he's better'n _any_ old Airedale! He's got more sense in his _tail_ than Aunt Maria's got in her whole body! If he goes I'll--I'll--go, too!" "Children," protested Mrs. Westley, giving way to the laughter that had been consuming her from the first moment of Aunt Maria's arrival. "Let's all feel grateful to Pepper. She's a poor, silly, selfish, vain old woman, and if she ever comes here again I'm afraid that _I_ won't promise to be good myself! Isobel Westley, dry your eyes--do you think I'd let any girl of mine go to France with her? She can take her eight other goddaughters, if they want to stand her quarreling with every single person in authority--I won't let her have _my_ girl. Why," she turned to John Westley and her face was very earnest, "she's such a _waste_--of human energy, of brains--of just breath! How terrible to grow old and be like--that." Gyp was furtively feeling of her firm cheeks. "I'd rather be ugly, mother, than wear those funny things. _Look_, mummy," she ran to her mother's chair and touched her cheek. "_You've_ got a wrinkle! But--I love it." With passionate tenderness she kissed the spot. "I'll take you to France myself some day," laughed Uncle Johnny, patting Isobel's hand.