“Jane,” said Christopher to his sister three days later, “a week is an awfully short time.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Jane.

She knew that when Christopher began to speak in that tone he had, something in particular to say.

“I mean that in a week mother and father will be here and——”

“A week isn’t a short time to wait to see them when we haven’t seen them for a long, long summer,” interrupted Jane indignantly.

“Well, it’s a short time when it’s all we’ve got left of staying here, isn’t it?” retorted Christopher.

Jane’s face lengthened. She had not thought of that side of the question.

“Do you think they are going to take us right straight home?” she asked slowly.

“Why, of course. Father’s been away from his business so long that he’ll just have to get back to it. I know enough to know that,” replied Christopher in his most exasperatingly superior tone.

But Jane was too deep in her own thoughts to be provoked. She was trying to understand the queer feeling that Christopher’s words brought to her heart. Surely she was not sorry that her father and mother were coming home? Oh, no, the thump her heart gave told her that that was not the reason. But it would be hard to leave grandfather and grandmother, Huldah and the puppies!

“Don’t you think they’ll let us stay a little longer?” she repeated. “School doesn’t begin for almost another month.”

“I don’t know. But if one of us was ill, we’d have to stay longer, wouldn’t we?”

“Why, yes, of course. But then it wouldn’t be any fun. Besides neither of us is ill or anything like it.”

“It is fun to be ill if you’re not so very bad,” said Christopher, answering the first half of Jane’s sentence. “Why, when Edward Hammond had the measles—do you remember?—he had lots of fun. He had to stay in bed a few days, but he didn’t mind that ’cause his mother read him stories and he got lots of presents.”

“Did he? Well, I guess mother’ll bring us a present.”

“And nice things to eat,” went on Christopher. “It was really great sport being ill.”

Jane eyed her brother suspiciously.

“Kit Baker, what’s the matter? What do you mean? Why are you talking such a lot about Edward Hammond having the measles? It all happened over a year ago anyhow, and he’s as well as you or I, now.”

“It wasn’t Edward I was thinking so much about as the measles.”

Jane turned.

“What about the measles? You don’t think you’re getting them, do you? Have you been exposed?”

“You don’t have to be exposed to get the measles.”

“Oh, but you do, I know. Else why is mother always so careful to keep us away from any one who has measles?”

“Oh, I suppose you can catch them from somebody else, but you can get them without being exposed, too, because Edward’s mother said he hadn’t been exposed, so there.”

“She said she couldn’t find out that he’d been exposed,” corrected Jane. “But I’d like to know what difference it makes now, Kit Baker. Do you feel as if you were getting the measles?”

“Not exactly, only—why, don’t you see? If one of us was to get the measles, we couldn’t go back to town so soon. And whichever one of us had ’em would have a bully time, with presents and sweetbreads and things,” he added hastily, as if offering an inducement.

Jane considered. She felt sure that there was something behind Christopher’s words—something he was trying to make her understand; but she could not make out what it was.

“Well, anyway,” she announced finally, “I haven’t the measles, nor anything else. I don’t know about you, but if you are coming down with anything you’ll have plenty of time to get over it before we go home.”

Which practical speech ended the conversation for the present.

Whatever Christopher’s deep-laid schemes were, he decided that the time was not yet ripe to unfold them. Then, too, there might be no necessity. He would wait and see.

But immediately after breakfast, two days before the steamship “Metric” was due to arrive in New York, he came upon his grandparents as they were ending a private consultation. Christopher overheard grandmother say:

“It will have to be Monday, then, two days after they get here.”

The words set Christopher thinking. As usually happens when one overhears something intended for other ears, he misunderstood grandmother’s meaning and jumped to the conclusion that the Monday to which grandmother referred was the day set for their return to the city. To leave Sunnycrest and all its joys, the freedom, the open air, country life! To leave on Monday and this was Thursday! Clearly there was no time to be lost. He rushed off to find Jane, carried her to the most remote corner of the orchard and there they sat a good hour or more, quite beyond the reach of ears, however sharp, but showing, had any one been interested enough to watch, that the topic under discussion was very weighty—and with two sides to it, to judge from Jane’s determined attitude and Christopher’s of persuasion.

It had been arranged that grandfather and grandmother were to go to the city on Friday afternoon, sleep there overnight, meet the ship which was to dock very early in the morning and bring the twins’ parents back with them to Sunnycrest on Saturday.

Grandmother, who believed in being punctual always, had already packed her bag and was in readiness for the journey quite soon after breakfast, although they did not have to start until after an earlier dinner than usual.

But shortly after eleven o’clock Jane came into the house looking very much flushed and complained of not feeling well. Even as she spoke, she turned white and became very ill. Christopher, who had followed her to the door of grandmother’s room, looked on with deep concern.

“Why, Kit,” exclaimed grandmother, “what have you and Janey been doing?”

“Playing,” answered Christopher briefly. He seemed to have lost his usual too-ready tongue. “We were just playing.”

“Was Janey swinging in the hammock or anything that could have made her so seasick?”

“We weren’t near the hammock,” answered Christopher frankly. “Are you going to send for the doctor, grandmother?”

“I hope it won’t be necessary,” replied grandmother anxiously. “Please ask Huldah to come up-stairs, Kit. I’ll get Janey to bed.”

Jane appeared so limp and miserable that grandmother decided (greatly to her secret disappointment) to give up her journey to town and stay at home with her, letting grandfather go by himself.

“And it will be a melancholy meeting with such anxious news for the children’s father and mother,” she added regretfully.

“Oh, Jane’s not as ill as that,” expostulated Christopher. “She’s—she’s—it’ll just keep us from going home so soon, perhaps, but that’s all. You go ahead to town, grandmother. I’ll take care of Janey—me and Huldah. And perhaps Letty’ll come out and read to us.”

“Oh, I should be afraid to let Letty come until I know what the matter is. Janey may be coming down with something. It is most distressing, and Dr. Greene is away up country and won’t be back to-night.”

And grandmother, cheerful, serene grandmother, actually cried a little. But then you see, she was both worried about Jane’s sudden, somewhat mysterious illness, and disappointed that she should have such distressing news to give the children’s mother just at this last moment when everything had gone so beautifully all summer long.

“Don’t you think you’d better go?” urged grandfather. He, too, was disappointed, for he and grandmother rarely traveled and always enjoyed their little excursions together. “Don’t you think Janey’s mother might worry more than she need if you stay behind? She will think it more serious than it really is.”

“It is serious enough to make me unwilling to leave Janey,” answered grandmother positively. “I should worry every single instant if I were away from her. I could not stand it, not knowing how she is every minute. With her symptoms she might be coming down with almost anything.”

“But I don’t think she’s very ill,” put in Christopher again. “You just tell father and mother she’ll be all right in a week or two if they——”

“In a week or two!” exclaimed grandmother, looking ready to cry again. “I hope it is not going to be so long an illness as that!”

Christopher blushed and hung his head, while grandfather again urged the wisdom of going to town together as they had originally planned. But grandmother was firm. She changed her dress and went back to Jane’s room. Jane set up a wail when she heard that grandmother was to remain at home.

“I am not ill, grandmother, not a bit!” she moaned. “I—I——”

“Be careful, Jane,” called Christopher from the doorway of his own room. “You’ll—you’ll get sick again.”

Jane dropped back in bed and began to cry. Grandmother knelt down and did her best to comfort her, but Jane sobbed on quite heedlessly.

Grandfather and Christopher had to sit down to dinner alone, as grandmother would not leave Jane and grandfather could not wait or he would miss his train. It was rather a melancholy meal. Grandfather ate hardly anything and even Christopher’s appetite failed. He watched his grandfather off and rode on the step of the carriage as far as the gate, but he did not ask permission to go all the way to Hammersmith, for the sake of the ride, as grandfather and Joshua had both expected him to do.

“The boy seems quite unlike himself,” grandfather remarked to Joshua as they drove away. “He takes Janey’s illness very much to heart.”

“I always agreed there was a lot of character in that boy,” replied Joshua heartily.

Christopher was told, when he got back to the house, that Jane was asleep and must on no account be disturbed, so he tiptoed disconsolately away and cast about for something to do. He began to be sorry he had not asked leave to ride into the village.

At about five o’clock grandmother called him. Jane was awake and feeling ever so much better—almost like herself in fact. Would Christopher sit with her a short time while grandmother went to her own room?

Jane, who had been sitting up in bed playing quite happily with her paper dolls, dropped back on her pillow when Christopher came in and turning her back, refused to speak to him. Grandmother had already left the room.

“Sit up, Jane,” commanded Christopher, closing the door and drawing a small black lacquered box from his pocket.

“I won’t,” said Jane flatly. “You are a horrid, wicked boy and I don’t like you.”

“But you promised.”

“You spoiled grandmother’s trip to town and mother’ll be scared ’most to death when she hears I’m too ill to let grandmother go.”

“I can’t help that. I didn’t know grandmother would stay home when it wasn’t necessary, and you promised——”

“Grandmother is so disappointed she wants to cry all the time,” went on Jane, her lip quivering.

“You promised!” Christopher’s tone was growing threatening. “Hurry up. There isn’t much time.”

“I don’t care,” said Jane defiantly.

“Jane Baker! Do you mean to say you are going to break your promise?”

This was attacking Jane’s vulnerable spot, for she prided herself upon always keeping her word. She sat up in bed.

“But if it’s a wrong promise?” she asserted weakly.

“It’s the same promise as when you made it,” announced Christopher with calm conviction, and he approached the bed with the small box in his hand.

Grandmother completed her afternoon toilet in something of a hurry, for she thought she heard sounds in Jane’s room.

“What is it?” she asked a little anxiously, appearing in the doorway just as Christopher opened the door from within.

“Nothing,” he answered. “I was just helping Janey get—get fixed.”

Grandmother glanced at Jane, lying flat on her pillow, her face turned away.

“Don’t you feel as well, Janey?” she asked tenderly, crossing to the bedside quickly.

Jane shook her head without speaking. She was white about the lips but her face looked red and blotched. Grandmother lifted one of the little hands; it felt hot and feverish. Huldah entered just then with a daintily arrayed supper tray but Jane pushed it aside with a shudder.

“I am afraid it is measles,” grandmother said in a low tone aside to Huldah. “She is sick again and see how flushed and broken out her face looks. We’d best send Kit away somewhere.”

“He can go down to the farmhouse,” replied Huldah promptly. “Joshua will see to him. I’m going to stay up here nights until the child’s better. Where could the precious lamb have caught the measles? I don’t know of a case for miles around.”

Mrs. Baker spent an anxious night for Jane tossed and moaned in her sleep in a distressful way. Several messages had been sent to the doctor and grandmother had also sent Jo Perkins into Hammersmith with a note to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, to tell her of the sudden illness and to warn Letty against coming out to Sunnycrest for fear of contagion. Such a dreary home-coming it promised to be for the returned travelers!

Christopher was decidedly taken aback by his banishment. He had not counted on anything of that sort and remonstrated vigorously.

“If it is measles, I don’t see the use in sending me away now,” he argued. “I guess the harm’s already done.”

But grandmother was determined to take no risks and sent Christopher off with a hand-bag.

Toward morning Jane became quieter and grandmother fell into an exhausted sleep. When Jane woke, she tiptoed softly into the bath-room, went through her morning bath and got back into bed again without disturbing her grandmother. The blotchy flush had entirely left her face and she looked and acted perfectly well. Indeed, she appeared quite like her usual self, except for a certain look of unhappiness which even the thought of her mother’s coming could not banish from her chubby face.

Grandmother was surprised to see this sudden change for the better, when she finally awoke, and she sent Jo Perkins speeding again into the village with a telegram to grandfather. But she decided to take no chances until Dr. Greene had come and pronounced the danger of measles really past, so Christopher was still held in quarantine at the farmhouse at the foot of the hill.

The doctor was late and took his departure only just before the arrival of the travelers. He had been puzzled by Jane’s symptoms.

“There were evidences of an upset stomach,” he said, “but not enough to have caused fever and a breaking out.”

She might get up and dress, he added as he left, and such a scramble Jane had to get into her clothes in time, with one eye on the clock! But she succeeded, and was the first to rush into her dear, dear mother’s arms.

What a day of jubilation it was! What wonderful tales of travel! What wonderful presents! But through it all there was something not quite natural about the behavior of the children. Christopher’s cheerfulness was a little overdone. The look of unhappiness still lurked in the depths of Jane’s eyes and she very pointedly avoided her brother.

“If grandmother had not assured me to the contrary, I should say the children were suffering from a guilty conscience,” said Mr. Christopher Baker, Jr., to his wife.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And Janey appears on the eve of confession. I have noticed two or three times that she has been on the point of telling me something and Kit has stopped her. Do you suppose there can be something behind her illness?”

After supper the family were assembled on the veranda, and Mrs. Baker, Jr., or “Mrs. Kit” as she was generally called—asked about Letty.

“We know how interested you both must be in Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Letty,” replied grandmother, “and so we have planned to invite them to Sunnycrest to spend a week. They are to come on Monday.”

Jane and Christopher exchanged sudden, startled looks.

“Aren’t we going home on Monday?” demanded Christopher.

“No, my boy. I have a ten days’ holiday and we are going to spend it here, all together,” answered his father.

Jane burst into tears.

“Now, Jane!” whispered Christopher fiercely, and reached out a hand to clutch Jane’s skirts.

But she was too quick for him and sprang to the shelter of her mother’s arms.

“Oh, we needn’t have done it! We needn’t have done it!” she wailed.

Everybody was unspeakably astonished except Christopher, who grew very red in the dusk, squirmed about on his chair, finally rose and muttering something about “girls being such softies,” ran into the house.

“Oh, mother,” sobbed Jane, “come over here.”

She drew her mother apart and made her sit down. Then standing beside her, the dear mother-shoulder ready to hide a shamed face, she whispered her story:

“Kit and I thought you and father were going to take us right back home to the city, and we didn’t want to go, and Kit said if one of us was ill or something, that we couldn’t go so soon, so he—he made me promise and we—I ate a lot of mushy bread and milk and drank some warm water and Kit whirled me till I was dizzy and—and grandmother put me to bed; then Kit came up and painted my face out of our water-color box and whirled me again and grandmother thought it was measles. She was scared and she cried because she had to give up her trip to the city with grandfather to meet you and mother—oh, mother, I’m so mis’rable! And I have broken my promise to Kit, too, ’cause I promised him not to tell!”

The halting, sobbing whisper ceased and Jane, in an agony of weeping, buried her head in her mother’s breast.

“Why, Jane!” exclaimed her mother. “Why, Janey!”

After the scolding, the sermon and the punishment were over and the children had been sent forgiven to bed, the four grown-ups went out onto the veranda again. It was a soft, balmy night, with no hint of the coming autumn in the air. The stars twinkled good-humoredly.

Grandmother, grandfather, mother and father all looked at one another for a moment; then—I am sorry to say that then they laughed; laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks and they had to sit down to keep from tipping over.

But of course Jane and Christopher never knew that.