"I wonder what they mean," she said to herself. "I wonder what the doctor means about affection. That's loving--at least people always put it at the end of their letters whether they're loving or not. I think people tells lots of stories when they'se big--_lotser_ than when they'se little. And it's all that horrid Martin that's stoppened my going into Maudie's room--I don't believe Maudie said she didn't want me." Just then Martin put her head out at the doorway of the inner room. "Miss Hoodie," she said, "please ring the bell--there's no bell in here--and when Jane comes up, tell her to send Lucy to speak to me at the other door--the door that opens to the passage." Hoodie executed the commission with great alacrity--even having a message to give was better than having nothing at all to do, and ringing the bell had always been greatly after Hoodie's own heart. Somewhat to her surprise, a few minutes after Jane had gone down again in search of Lucy, Lucy herself came into the nursery. "You were to go to the _other_ door. What a time you've been of coming up," said Hoodie, politely. "I've _been_ to the other door, Miss Hoodie, and Martin has told me what she wants me to do," replied Lucy. "Poor Martin, I'm right down sorry for her, and poor little Miss Maudie," said Lucy. "Now, Miss Hoodie, I'm going to take you out into the garden a little, and when we come in I'm going to stay with you in the sewing-room." Lucy's manner had become more decided, and somehow Hoodie did not make any objection. She let Lucy put on her hat and take her into the garden, quietly enough. "Is Maudie _very_ ill, Lucy?" she asked. "I hope not," said Lucy, "but it's too soon to say much yet." "Why are you sorry for Martin?" was Hoodie's next inquiry. "Oh, because it's such a upset, and her that's that fond of you all," said Lucy. "I'm sure if there's anything I can do, I'll be only too glad. I'm very glad I've had the fever." "Why are you glad? When did you have it, and was it the affection fever like what Maudie's got?" asked Hoodie. Lucy did not laugh. She was rather a matter-of-fact girl. "I had it when I was six, and people don't often, almost never, have it twice," she replied. "That's how I'm to take care of you, Miss Hoodie, otherwise they'd have been afraid of my catching it. Your mamma's a very kind lady that way, and it's dreadfully catching--just see how poor Miss Maudie's got it with that one minute in that cottage the other day." Hoodie stared at her. "Did Maudie catch it that day she ran to tell me to come away from the baby's mother's cottage?" she said. Lucy stared at her in turn. "Of course," she said. "Didn't you know that, Miss Hoodie? It can't be helped now, you see, and we must hope Miss Maudie will get better. But it'll be a lesson to you to be obedient another time. Let's go and gather some flowers, Miss Hoodie, and make a little nosegay for you to send in to Miss Maudie."