That afternoon the Force automobile came for Kathleen. Mr. and Mrs. Force were confronted by Diggs as they came up the steps. He gave them the news. "The deuce you say," said Force, backing down the steps. "Has she been exposed?" Mr. Bingle appeared in the doorway. "Come in, please," he said, covering his bare head with a newspaper. "Got some bad news for you." "What the devil do you mean, Bingle, by running around among the riff-raff of all New York, picking up germs and bringing 'em out here to a house full of children? See what you've done, gallivanting around with Rouquin's cheap--" "Oh, come now, Force! Don't blame poor little Napoleon. It takes ten days or so for a case to develop and I saw Napoleon only two days ago. Come in, won't you? I can't stand here in the--" "No, thank you," exploded Mr. Force. "I've never had the infernal thing, and it's usually fatal in adults. I wouldn't expose myself to it for a million dollars. Shut the door, Diggs, confound you! Do you want to have the microbes blowing out here into my very face? Get back in the car, dear! Lord, what a nice mess it is. Hang it all, Bingle, didn't I tell you in so many words not to let Kathleen play around with all those little--" "Kathleen hasn't got it--yet," said Mr. Bingle hotly. "Only two of 'em have shown--" "We cannot consider taking her away with us now," said Mrs. Force, with decision. "You can't expect us to expose ourselves to--" "No, you can't, Bingle," broke in Mr. Force. "It's not to be thought of. She's got to stay here until--until the thing's over." "That is to say, until she gets well or dies," said Mr. Bingle, raising his voice. "Oh, I'll send out a good doctor and a couple of nurses. And, see here, I don't want this child cooped up with all the rest of 'em. I want her placed in a separate room, as far as possible from the--" "By jingo!" cried Mr. Bingle. "I believe it would be a good thing for the child if she caught it and died. Good day, Mrs. Force. Better move rapidly, Force. You see, I've been exposed--and so has Diggs. We're alive with microbes." And that is why Kathleen did not go South early in March--not until late in April, for that matter, when she had completely recovered from a particularly stubborn illness, and long after all of the others, except little Imogene, were up and about. Imogene died. Miss Fairweather was the angel in this season of tribulation. She was true blue. Day and night she gave up to the care of the sick ones, and when it was all over the roses in her cheeks were missing, but the light in her eyes was bright.