"It wasn't nurse's fault," sobbed Firefly, nestling her head into her father's cheek. "I ran away from her. I hided from her on purpose." "Then you were the naughty one. What is the matter, dear? Why do you make things worse for me and for us all just now?" Firefly's head sank still lower. Her hot little cheek pressed her father's with an acute longing for sympathy. Instinct told him of the child's need. He walked down the avenue, holding her closely. "Wasn't you going the other way, father?" asked Firefly, squeezing her arms tight around his neck. "No matter, I must see you home first. Now what were those sobs about? And why did you hide yourself from nurse?" "'Cause I wanted to be downstairs, to listen to the grown-ups." "The grown-ups? My dear, who are they?" "Oh, Nell, and Poll Parrot, and Katie; I don't mind about Nell and Polly, but it isn't fair that Katie should be made a grown-up--and she is--she is, really, father. She is down in the school-room so important, and just like a regular grown-up, so I couldn't stand it." "I see. You wanted to be a grown-up too--you are seven years old, are you not?" "I'm more. I'm seven and a half--Katie is only eleven." "Quite so! Katie is young compared to you, isn't she, Firefly. Still, I don't see my way. You wished to join the grown-ups, but I found you sobbing on the damp grass under one of the shrubs near the avenue. Is it really under a damp arbutus shrub that the grown-ups intend to take counsel?" "Oh no, father, no--" here the sobs began again. "They were horrid, oh they were horrid. They locked me out--I banged against the door, but they wouldn't open. It was then I came up here. I wouldn't have minded if it hadn't been for Katie." "I see, my child. Well, run to bed now, and leave the matter in father's hands. Ask nurse to give you a hot drink, and not to scold, for father knows about it." "_Darling_ father--oh, how good you are! Don't I love you! Just another kiss--_what_ a good father you are!" Firefly hugged the tall doctor ecstatically. He saw her disappear into the house, and once more pursued his way down the avenue. "Good!" he echoed to himself. "Never did a more harassed man walk. How am I to manage those girls?" CHAPTER VIII. SHOULD THE STRANGERS COME? Helen and Polly were seated together in the pleasant morning-room. Helen occupied her mother's chair, her feet were on a high footstool, and by her side, on a small round table, stood a large basket filled with a heterogeneous collection of odd socks and stockings, odd gloves, pieces of lace and embroidery, some wool, a number of knitting needles, in short, a confused medley of useful but run-to-seed-looking articles which the young housekeeper was endeavoring to reduce out of chaos into order.