"I've only _just_ come up-stairs," said Hoodie. "I waited ever so long in the kitchen, 'cos I thought baby's mother was out, and that she'd come in soon. And then I called out and I heard she was up-stairs, so I came up, but she won't let me touch baby and I can nurse her so nicely." "It isn't for that, miss," said Mrs. Lizzie in distress; "it's only _for fear_ there should be anything catchin' about her. Doctor saw her yesterday and thought it was only her teeth, still it's best to be careful." "Yes, thank you," said Maudie, "I think we'd better go. Perhaps we'll come again when baby's better. Come, Hoodie." With some difficulty she got Hoodie away, for though considerably offended with baby's mother, Hoodie was much more inclined to stay and argue it out with her, than to give in quietly. At the foot of the stair they met Martin; Maudie explained things to her, and Martin's face grew very grave. She was too really alarmed to be cross. "Run out at once," she said, "both of you, into the open air, and stay in the field till I come; I have sent Lucy home. Better know the worst at once," she added to herself, as she climbed the steep little stair, "oh dear, oh dear! who ever would have thought of such a thing?" CHAPTER XII. HOODIE AWAKES. "And till we're nice old ladies We'll love each other so." When Martin joined the two little girls again, her face looked not only grave, but white. Maudie felt frightened, she hardly knew why. Hoodie, in a state of defiance to meet the expected scolding, was so amazed at its not coming that the surprise kept her quiet. So they all three walked home in silence, though as fast as possible. No lingering by the way to gather flowers, or to watch the ducks in Farmer Girton's pond! Martin held a hand of each little girl, and merely saying now and then, "We must go straight home, my dears," marched steadily on. It was a strange, unnatural kind of walk--the children felt something mysterious about it, without knowing what, and poor Martin's heart was terribly sore. She _could not_ scold Hoodie, naughty as she had undoubtedly been, for sad fears were picturing themselves before her--what might not be the result of Hoodie's disobedience? "Supposing," thought poor Martin, who was of a very anxious, as well as affectionate disposition, "supposing this is the last walk we ever have together? oh dear, oh dear--scarlet fever is an awful thing once it gets into a family, and the kind that is about is a bad kind, they say." She did not lose her presence of mind, however. As soon as ever they reached the house, she sent the two children straight up to Maudie's room, a plainly furnished little room opening out of the day-nursery, and told them to wait there till she came to them. Then she went at once to see their mother, and some time passed before she came up to them. "What's the matter, Martin?" said Maudie, timidly. "Why do you look so sad?"