So, taking their bedroom candles, the two old ladies went up-stairs. But as Miss Dorinda had feared, they could not get to sleep, and they lay awake thinking about their sister and their sister's child. And so it happened that they were both awake when at about eleven o'clock the great brass knocker on the front door sent clattering clangs all through the house. Such a thing had never before been known at Primrose Hall, and the sisters, terror-stricken, jumped from their beds and met at the door of their connecting rooms, where they faced each other with pale, startled faces. "What can it be?" whispered Miss Dorinda. "The house must be on fire," said Miss Priscilla, decidedly; "let us get our fire-gowns." These were commodious robes of thick, dark flannel which hung on the sisters' bed-posts, to be hurried on in case of fire. For years they had been hung there every night and put away every morning, but it seemed that at last their time had come. While the sisters were tremblingly trying to get into them, Martha appeared in her fire-gown and asked what she should do. "Answer the door," said Miss Priscilla. "But stay: it may not be the firemen; I don't smell any smoke. In that case it must be burglars. Let us call Matthew." By this time the great knocker sounded again, and Bridget and Matthew both appeared in the hall. Each wore a fire-gown, and as all of the party had on night-caps, they were an imposing-looking crowd. The Flint ladies wore great be-ruffled caps, tied with wide white strings, suspiciously fresh and smooth; and, indeed, these caps had been for years awaiting this very occasion; for if the Misses Flint were to be heroically rescued from fiery flames, they wanted to look decent at the time. Bridget and Martha wore neat, narrow-ruffled caps, as befitted their station; and Matthew was crowned with a queer-looking thing of knitted yarn with a long tassel hanging down behind. With an old musket in his hands, Matthew led the procession to the front door. Bridget and Martha followed, holding candles, and Miss Priscilla and Miss Dorinda, arm in arm, encouraged each other, and nerved themselves for whatever might be about to happen. Then Matthew flung the great front door wide open, and there was no fire-engine outside, no burglars--only a tiny mite of a girl who fairly jumped into the hall as the door opened, and stood looking at the strange beings who surrounded her. Her face was small and very white, with large, dark eyes that seemed to be dancing with mirth. Her straight black hair hung round her ears like elf-locks, and she wore a long red cloak and a wide-brimmed red hat. She looked inquiringly from one to the other, as if uncertain which to address, and then, with a smiling glance that seemed to include them all, she flung off her hat and cloak, and said, in a sweet, childish voice, "I'm Ladybird, and I've come to stay." CHAPTER III A GUEST FOR THE NIGHT