The doctor laughed at these outbursts when he happened to be in a good humor himself. But the housekeeper and servants were not at all disposed to take it so complacently, and they resolved that the next time the doctor shut himself up in his room to indulge his gloomy seclusion, little Milly should be sent away. It was not long before an opportunity presented itself. One morning the doctor failed to make his appearance as usual, and the little girl was more tiresome than ever. "I will not put up with it any longer, that I won't!" exclaimed the angry housekeeper, when Milly broke the second cup and saucer that had been placed before her. "I don't see why we should take the child in because the sea happened to wash her up near here; this is not the parish poorhouse." And so a servant was dispatched to the widow's cottage to bring Bob at once. The boy thought that perhaps more sea-weed was required, and so without any delay, he hurried up to the house. "I want you to take that child home; the doctor can't be bothered with her any longer," said the housekeeper, as soon as Bob made his appearance. Poor Bob scratched his head in perplexity. "I'll tell mother, ma'am," he said, though what they should do with this additional burden, he was at a loss to know. He had begun to hope that the doctor would keep her, if no one came forward to claim her, although she was always spoken of as "Bob's baby" by all who knew the circumstances of her rescue. "You'd better take her with you," said the housekeeper. "The doctor has one of his bad attacks coming on this morning, and she's in the way here. You can carry her home, can't you?" "Yes, ma'am, I can carry her. But I was thinking what we should do with her," said Bob, still in perplexity. "Well, if you like to keep her, I'll send her some clothes now and then. And you can come here for the broken victuals; there's a good deal sometimes, and it would help you a bit, I dare say." "Yes, ma'am it would," said Bob. "But, mind, I don't say you are to keep her," went on the housekeeper. "If I were your mother, I should send her to the workhouse. It would be the best place, I think, for Dr. Mansfield can't be bothered with her again, and so you must not bring her here or let him see her any more." "I shouldn't like her to go to the workhouse," said Bob, gently stroking the fair hair of the little girl as she toddled into the room. He held out his arms as he spoke, and the child went to him, but scowled fiercely at the housekeeper when she attempted to touch her. "She's got a temper of her own, I can tell you," said one of the servants, as she pinned a shawl around Milly's shoulders and tied on a quaint-looking little bonnet that had been made for her by one of them. "You'd better make up your mind to send her to the workhouse at once." "I'll tell mother what you say, ma'am," said' Bob deferentially, for he stood in awe of the grand-looking servants.