“I woke up, goose. Wouldn’t you _know_ that that was what would happen with a whole worldful of candy to be eaten?” After talking a while longer, they all filed into the living room; began to look about for their books. Suddenly the telephone bell rang. Maida was nearest. “I hope nothing else has happened,” she said as she took off the receiver. “I want to talk with Maida Westabrook,” came a girl’s voice over the wire to her. Strange it was and yet it had a familiar ring; the strangeness was its weakness and its breathlessness. “I am Maida Westabrook.” “Listen! I must talk quick. They will be back and stop me. I am Silva Burle. They think I am asleep. I have tried to tell them. They won’t listen. They think I am raving. I’m not. I’ve got my senses. My baby sister, Nesta, is in a cave on the other side of the lake. Tyma is away. There’s nobody to feed her. She’ll starve--” “I found her this afternoon, Silva,” Maida interrupted. “She’s upstairs in the Little House now--fast asleep.” “Oh!” Silva’s voice dropped almost as though she were faint. Then suspiciously, “Are you saying this to me because you think I’m raving? Oh tell me the truth. I ask God to be my witness that I am telling _you_ the truth.” “Yes, Silva,” Maida said steadily, “I am telling you the truth. I give you my word of honor. I went across the lake this morning. I heard the baby crying. I followed the sound and found her. Don’t worry any more about her. We’ll keep her here just as long as you’re ill.” She started to add the news of Mrs. Dore’s accident, of Granny’s and Floribel’s absence, but a sudden discreet impulse bade her not to go on. Instead she said, “How did you happen to have the baby in that cave?” “It’s a long story,” answered Silva weakly. “I can’t tell you now. Will you come to see me to-morrow?” “Yes,” Maida agreed, “in the morning.” “You promise?” Silva’s weak voice entreated; it almost threatened. “I cross my throat and my heart!” Unseen by Silva, Maida solemnly performed these rituals of the pledged word. “And you’re sure she’s all right?” “Sure,” Maida answered. “You ought to hear her laugh and coo.” “Ask her how often they feed her,” came from Rosie’s clear voice from behind. Maida repeated the question. “Four times a day--at nine; at twelve; at three and at six, and then at night.” “That’s what Rosie said,” Maida explained, “four in the day and one at night.” “I can never thank you enough.” Silva’s voice had something in it that Maida had never heard there before. “But some day-- Here they are coming up the stairs. I must get back to bed.” Silva’s voice cut off quickly. Maida listened for a while, but there was no sound. A babble of questions assailed her when she dropped the receiver. She told them all she knew. “Who would have thought that baby would have turned out to be Silva Burle’s sister!” Rosie remarked thoughtfully. “Well now,” Laura prophesied with a faint lilt of triumph, “I guess she won’t be so pig-headed.”