"Can it be mice?" queried Polly's _most_ innocent voice. More time passed. Suddenly the sharp and unmistakable sound of gravel being flung against the window forced the young lady to go to ascertain what was the matter. On looking out, she saw what caused her to utter an amazed exclamation. Mrs. Cameron, very red in the face, and holding the lost Scorpion in one encircling arm, while the other was thrown firmly round a most sulky-looking David; Firefly, pale and with traces of tears on her face; Flower, looking excited and eager--all stood under the window. This group were loud in demanding instant admission to the Doctor's room. "What is it, what is it?" questioned the patient from the bed. "Oh, you are _not_ strong enough to see them, father." "To see whom?" "Aunt Maria--Scorpion--the children." "Yes, I am quite strong enough. Let them come up at once." "But father!" "But Polly! You don't suppose seriously that your Aunt Maria can disturb my equanimity?" "Oh! She will worry you with so many tales." "About my very naughty family?" "Yes, yes; you had much better not see her." "Because she wants me to get a chaperon for you?" "Oh! yes--oh! don't see her." "My dear, you can trust me; you happen to be _my_ children, not hers. I would rather have the matter out. I knew there was something wrong from the way little Fly kissed my hand this morning. Show the deputation outside the window into the audience chamber at once, Polly." So admonished, the curtains had to be drawn back, the baize door reopened, and Polly--a most unwilling hostess--had to receive her guests. But no words can describe the babel of sounds which there and then filled the Doctor's room; no words can tell how patiently the blind man listened. Aunt Maria had a good tale to tell, and it lost nothing in the telling. The story of Scorpion's disappearance; of the wickedness of David and Fly; of the recovering of the little animal from the man who had bought it, through Flower's instrumentality; all this she told, following up with the full and particular history of the sale of a valuable diamond. At last--at long last--the good lady stopped for want of breath. There was a delicious pause, then the Doctor said, quietly: "In short, Maria, you have never come across such absolutely wicked children as the Maybrights and Dalrymples?" "No, Andrew--never! never!" "It is lucky they are not your children?" "Thank Heaven!" "Would it not be well to leave them to me? I am accustomed to them." "Yes; I wash my hands of you all; or no--not quite of you all--I heap coals of fire on your head, Andrew; I offer to relieve you of the charge of Daisy Rymple." "Of Flower?--but she is one of the worst of us." Here Flower ran over, crouched down by the Doctor, and put one of her hands into his. "But I will be good with you," she said with a half-sob.