After a while, the frantic shutting and opening of desk drawers, bureau drawers, and closet drawers, ceased. The _oh’s_ and _ah’s_ died down from lack of breath. Maida led the way into the south room at the left. “This is the guest chamber. And now,” she added, heading the file through a door at the back of the small hall which led into a big long room, “we’re out of the main house and in the Annex. This is the Nursery. It is over the dining room.” The Nursery was a big room with a little bed in each corner; miniature tables and chiffoniers all painted white. “Molly, Timmie, Dorothy, Mabel,” Maida pointed to the four beds. “Delia will sleep in that room at the left with her mother and Betsy in this room at the right with Granny Flynn. You see both these rooms open into the Nursery and Granny Flynn and Mrs. Dore can keep an eye on what’s going on here.” “They’ll have to keep two eyes on it--if Betsy’s here,” Rosie prophesied. “Now, except for the laundry and some empty rooms in the Annex, I think you’ve seen everything. Everything, that is, except Floribel’s and Zeke’s room. I don’t suppose you want to see them. And besides I’d have to ask their permission.” “If I see another thing this day,” Rosie declared desperately, “I shall die of happiness _this minute_.” Fortunately however, she was not called upon to gaze on any object which would have resulted in so speedy a demise. For just at that moment the cow-bell rang. “That’s supper,” Maida explained. Reinforcing the cow-bell’s call, came Mrs. Dore’s voice: “You must come down now, children. Your supper is on the table, all nice and hot.” CHAPTER V MORNING The sun poured through the windows onto Maida’s bed. She stirred. Was it a bird calling her? No. It was the phonograph. She peeped out the window. Arthur had brought the phonograph to the opening of the barn door. It was playing, “Bugle Calls of the American Army.” It was reveille that she was listening to. The door to her bed-chamber flew open and Rosie, her heavy curls flying, her black eyes sparkling, precipitated herself across the room. “Oh Maida!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it wonderful? I am not _dreaming_ am I? Ow!” as Maida pinched her. “I have been awake for I don’t know how long, listening to the birds and everything. I have been waiting ever so long for you to wake up. I thought you would never stir.” “Well now that I’m awake, I’ll dress as soon as possible,” Maida promised. “We’ve got a long day before us. Let’s go in and get Laura up.” Laura was still deep in slumber. Indeed she showed a marked disinclination to awaken. Rosie charitably assisted her efforts by the application to her face of a very wet--and a very cold--sponge. For some reason, this action precipitated a pillow fight. In the midst of it, the breakfast bell sounded but they paid no attention to it. Finally Granny Flynn had to call: “Stop that running about, children, and get dressed. Breakfast’ll be on the table in a minute.”