Meanwhile, Kathleen had succeeded in catching up to the little truants, and was giving them a lecture on their misbehaviour, in what was intended to be a very severe tone. "It was really _very_ naughty, Joan, very naughty indeed. You are older than Paddy, and should not have taken him into mischief." And she looked reproachfully into the dark grey eyes of the little girl, whose hand she now held tightly. "You might have been knocked down, and run over, or even lost. All sorts of things might have happened to you," she added, piling on the agony, for she thought she might as well do it thoroughly while she was about it. "Oh, Kathie, we didn’t mean to be naughty, truly we didn’t," said little Joan, somewhat awed by the calamities which her big sister was enumerating so glibly; "did we, Paddy?" "No, didn’t mean to be naughty," repeated five-year-old Paddy solemnly, a simply seraphic look on his sweet little face, which was surrounded by a halo of golden curls. "But it was such a _dear_ little monkey!" And he half turned his head, with a longing look after the object of his affections, now almost out of sight in the distance. But Kathleen drew him on. "Well, promise me never to run off like that alone, again," she said, "or poor mother would be dreadfully upset. Just fancy if I had gone home without you, what would she have said?" "Spect she’d have said ’good riddance’!" was Master Pat’s saucy rejoinder, as he looked roguishly up at his tall sister. "Oh! Pat, you are well called ’The Pickle,’" she cried, as she held the little chubby hand even more tightly, for this baby brother was the pet and plaything of the whole family, albeit he kept them continually on thorns with the endless mischief he managed to get into. "Must you tell mother we ran away from you, Kathie?" whispered Joan, beseechingly, as they neared home. She was a very tender-hearted little maiden, who would seldom have given any trouble but for Paddy’s mischievous suggestions, and the thought of her mother being grieved troubled her. "No, dearie, I don’t think we will tell her this time; but you won’t do it again, will you?" said kind-hearted Kathleen, as she pushed open the heavy iron gate, and the trio walked up the somewhat weed-covered path, leading to a substantial red brick house, well known in Osmington as Dr. Franklyn’s. As they entered the door, a girl of fourteen or so, a younger edition of Kathleen, rushed out into the hall. "What an age you’ve been, Kath!" she cried impetuously. "Elsa and I thought you were never coming. Did you get what we wanted?" "Yes, yes, Olive, I have it all right, but give me time to breathe," said Kathleen, as her younger sister began scrimmaging in her pocket. "Mind you don’t upset it!" "You dear old granny, how can it be upset if it isn’t opened yet?" was the laughing reply, as Olive succeeded in securing a large tin of enamel. "But, oh! Kath, what shall we do for a brush?" And her face fell considerably at the thought.