The children had had their supper when Melissa came down from Mrs. Bingle's room, whither she had been summoned in some haste at five o'clock. She promptly announced that they were to skip off to bed at once as their mother's head was that bad that she was not to be disturbed by the slightest sound. To the inquiries of her fellow-servants, Melissa curtly replied that it was none of their business what had happened and if they had any business they'd better attend to it instead of snooping around the halls trying to find out something that did not in the least concern them. Melissa knew what had happened. Before eight o'clock that night Miss Fairweather knew, and Flanders also. The great Bingle dream was not the only one to be shattered by the news that the day brought forth. For the first time in two days, Melissa addressed herself to Mr. Diggs. Her lip trembled and there were tears lying close to the surface of her eyes. She told the butler, in smothered tones, that she had decided to remain in the employ of Mr. Bingle as long as he needed her services, and that she would have to return his ring. She could not marry him--at least not at present, nor for a long time perhaps. The children refused to go to bed unless Melissa told them a story. She collected them in the nursery--the lame, the halt and the half-blind--and very meekly inquired what kind of a story they would have. "The one about Peter Pan," said Henrietta. "No! Tell us a new one about the piruts," cried Wilberforce. "A ghost story, 'Lissie," chimed in Harold, aged five. "Scare me good and hard, so's I can sleep with Freddy to-night." "It's not the right kind of a night for a ghost story," said Melissa, her eyes going over the group with a strange, sweet compassion in their depths. "The wind ought to be howling with blood-curdling glee and the will-o'-the-wisp ought to be a-hoppin' in the swamp. There ought to be a graveyard close by--and some skeletons standing just outside the winders, trying to look in upon us through their eyeless sockets." "Let's imagine 'em," said Frederick. "I want to huddle, 'Lissie," lisped Rosemary. "It's fun to huddle." "You'll be discharged if you fill these kids up with any more of those yarns of yours," said Stokes, the nurse-maid, languidly looking up from the book she was reading. "I guess not," said Melissa, rather grimly. "My job's safe, no matter what I do or don't do. Go on with your reading, Miss Stokes. Your worries are almost over. Mine are just beginning. Huddle up close, Rosemary--I'm going to begin." "I'm huddled," shivered Rosemary, crawling under Melissa's sheltering arm.