"Then mother took a lot of papers out of her bag, some stuff she had written and didn't get suited with, and she stuffed them in the stove and set fire to them. Then we all went down to the lane to see father and mother off and when we got back the house was on fire. The chimney burned out." "Guess mother must have written some hot stuff," said Emerald. "It was burning so fast," continued Ptolemy, "that we didn't dast go in to save anything and all our food and clothes and balls and bats and fishing tackle are gone, and we didn't know what to do, or what to eat, and so--we came here." "You did just right, Ptolemy," I admitted. "I shouldn't have called you down--not until I heard your story, anyway." I held out my hand, which he shook solemnly, but with an injured air. "Do you mean to tell me," asked Miss Frayne, "that your father and mother went away without seeing the baby?" Ptolemy flushed a little. "You see," he explained apologetically, "mother gets woolly when she writes and she's forgotten there's Di. She thinks Demetrius is the youngest. She's mad about writing. If she sees a blank paper anywhere, she ain't happy until she has written something on it, and the sight of a pencil makes her fingers itch." [Illustration: I held out my hand, which he shook solemnly, but with an injured air] "Take warning, Miss Frayne," I said, "and don't get too literary." "Some day," resumed Ptolemy, "mother'll get the antiques all out of her system and then she'll remember us." I liked the boy's defense of his mother, and I began to see that Rob was right in thinking there were possibilities in the lad, but it was Silvia's influence that had developed them, for in the days when he borrowed soup plates of us, there had been no redeeming trait that I could discern. And while I was recalling this, I heard Silvia saying to him kindly: "And in the meantime, I'll be 'mudder' to you." "So will I," chimed in Beth. "I'll be a big brother," offered Rob. "I'll be next friend, Ptolemy," I contributed. Strange to say, my offer seemed to make the most impression on him. He came to me and gazed into my eyes earnestly. "I'll do just as you say," he promised. "Where do we'uns come in?" asked Pythagoras, with one of his satanic grins. Miss Frayne saved the day. "You all come in with me," she said, "and have lunch. I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I understand there is warm ginger cake and huckleberry pie. Aren't you hungry?" "You bet," spoke up Pythagoras. "We only had coffee, peanuts, and beans down in the woods, and father ate the beans and drank all the coffee." "We're out of the frying pan into the fire," said Silvia woefully, when we were alone. "I wish the Polydore parents had gone up in smoke," I declared. "Then your last hope of getting rid of the children would have gone up in smoke, too," argued Beth. "No; in case of the demise of their parents, we could have turned them over body and soul to the probate court," I informed her.