A tray on which were three glasses of cold milk and three biscuits was always placed on the schoolroom table punctually at eight o’clock, the twins’ bedtime. Emmeline, who was allowed to sit up till a quarter to nine, usually let her supper wait on the table till then; to-night, however, she chose to retire with the younger ones.

‘She must be tired with the Fair and all the excitement,’ thought Aunt Grace, little suspecting all the plotting and planning that was going on at that moment in the schoolroom.

‘The question is, how we are to get the milk out to him without either Aunt Grace or the servants hearing us,’ Emmeline was saying. ‘If we go out at the side-door they’ll hear in the kitchen, and if we go out at the front-door Aunt Grace will hear in the drawing-room. I think on the whole the side-door will be the safest, though, for Aunt Grace has such awfully quick ears. But either way it’s very risky.’

‘I know what!’ exclaimed Micky. ‘Do you remember that American chap who was in a French prison, and who kept his gaolers so amused with his stories that the other people escaped while they weren’t looking? Well, that’s what Kitty and I will do. We’ll go to the kitchen and tell Jane and Cook all the funniest stories we can think of, and while they are laughing, Emmeline, you can creep out on tiptoe with Diamond Jubilee’s supper.

Emmeline felt a little doubtful as to whether Micky’s stories would prove quite as absorbing as the ‘American chap’s’ had done, but she could not think of a better plan. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘you go down to the kitchen now, and I’ll bring down the supper in a minute or two, when you’ve had time to get them interested.’

‘Now, Master Micky, it’s quite time you were going to bed.’ Emmeline heard Jane’s voice saying, as she crept past the kitchen-door two minutes later. ‘We’re having our supper, and we don’t want you and Miss Kitty bothering here now.’

‘But Jane, he’s going to tell you such a funny story!’ pleaded Kitty.

‘It’s high time he was dreaming funny dreams instead of telling funny stories,’ said Jane severely. ‘Go to bed now, Master Micky, there’s a good boy.’

‘You’ll have to turn me out of the room then, said Micky—a remark which was promptly followed by sounds of a rush and scramble. Emmeline knew that Micky was being chased round and round the kitchen-table—a process which involved far more noise than any amount of funny stories. Decidedly Micky was a person of resource.

Emmeline put down her tray cautiously and stretched out her hand to the door-handle. Horrors! The wretched door would not open, however much she turned the handle. It was locked, and bolted top and bottom!

Emmeline was in despair. She would have to fetch a chair in order to reach the top bolt, and it was hopeless to think of doing this, unlocking and unbolting the door, running out to Diamond Jubilee and making him gulp down the milk, coming back with the tray and the empty glasses, rebolting and relocking the door, and taking away the chair, all in the space of time that Micky was being chased round the kitchen-table! No, clearly there was nothing for it but just to go upstairs again.

It was lucky that she decided as she did, for she and her tray had barely disappeared up the back stairs when the kitchen-door was flung open and a very red-faced Micky was pushed out into the passage.

‘I’ll tell your aunt of you if you don’t go upstairs this minute!’ Jane’s parting shot made the little boy retreat.

‘Why, Emmeline, you have been quick!’ he exclaimed, when he came back into the schoolroom and found her there. ‘Oh, I see’—in a disappointed voice, as he caught sight of the glasses still full of milk—‘you haven’t even started.’

‘Yes, I have,’ and she ruefully explained what had happened. ‘I can’t think what made Jane take it into her head to lock up so early just this one evening,’ she concluded. ‘She hardly ever does it before they go to bed.’

‘She has put the shutters up in the dining-room, too,’ remarked Micky. ‘I went in there just now because I thought we might manage to open the dining-room window and get the things out that way.’

‘I don’t think we could have opened that window anyhow; it’s so very stiff and heavy,’ said Emmeline; ‘and, of course, if the shutters are up it’s no good thinking of it. Really, Jane is very tiresome.’

‘She’s the annoyingest person I know,’ declared Kitty in an aggrieved voice. ‘Micky was telling her the loveliest story, and she wouldn’t listen—not one little bit. It was awfully stupid of her—wasn’t it, Emmeline?—besides being so unpolite.’

Emmeline was too much worried over the question of Diamond Jubilee’s supper to give much thought to Jane’s lack of manners.

‘What are we to do?’ she asked in despair. ‘It’s not only that he’ll be so hungry, but it’ll be breaking a promise if we don’t take him some supper.’

‘I’ll jump out of this window, and then you can throw out the glasses for me to catch, like the man at the circus,’ suggested Micky.

‘I dare say! And the glasses would all get broken and the milk spilt,’ said Emmeline, dismissing the idea with scorn. ‘But we might throw the biscuits out like that. That’s what we’ll have to do, I suppose, though it’s a great pity, as we can’t save the milk for his breakfast.’

‘I’ve thought of a plan!’ cried Kitty suddenly; and off she rushed, returning a moment later with an empty hot-water can.

‘Whatever is the use of that?’ asked Emmeline, quite puzzled.

‘It’ll be the lift for the glasses to go down in,’ explained Kitty, who was busy untying her sash. ‘My sash will be like the rope to let it down with.’

The story games at which they were constantly playing had made them all very clever at putting things to other uses than those for which they were naturally intended, so both Micky and Emmeline understood directly what Kitty meant.

‘It’s a splendid idea!’ said Emmeline warmly.

Kitty flushed with pleasure as she bent down, and began tying one end of her sash in a knot round the spout of the hot-water can.

‘You’d better let me do that,’ said Micky eagerly; ‘girls always make grannies.’ Sailor knots were a new and carefully acquired accomplishment to Micky himself, so it was with much satisfaction that he undid Kitty’s rather feeble attempt, and bound her sash with two beautiful knots, one on the spout and the other on the handle of the hot-water can. ‘There! That’ll do champion!’ he pronounced as he finished.

The next business was to put two of the glasses and one of the biscuits into the hot-water can. It had struck Emmeline while Micky was tying his knots that they could, after all, save the contents of the third glass for to-morrow morning’s breakfast, since she and Kitty could use the same tooth-glass just for once. That being so, one of the biscuits might well be spared for to-night’s supper.

As soon as the water-can lift was ready packed, Micky clambered up on to the schoolroom window-sill and jumped out, landing right on the top of Mr. Brown’s favourite double chrysanthemum. The poor plant did not like it at all, but nobody paid any attention to it. Conspirators cannot be expected to trouble about such trifles as chrysanthemums, even if they are intended for flower-shows.

Afterwards the can was slowly and carefully lowered by Emmeline. Micky lifted up the lid as soon as he had it safely in his hands, and all three children were delighted when it turned out that neither of the glasses had been upset during their descent, and only a little of the milk spilt.

‘I shall jump out, too, and help Micky take Diamond Jubilee his supper,’ announced Kitty, suddenly; and she was just preparing to do so when Emmeline caught hold of her sleeve to stop her, thereby letting drop the sash, which was her only connecting-link with the can.

‘There now!’ she cried angrily. ‘See what you’ve made me do by being so silly! It’ll all be found out now, for I don’t know however we are to get the can up again.’

‘I’m so dreadfully sorry, Emmeline,’ said poor Kitty in a piteous voice.

She felt, as she told Micky afterwards, ‘a mixture of a donkey and a traitor,’ and that is not a cheery feeling.

Micky set the can down on the ground and rubbed his head thoughtfully. He always did this when he was perplexed, not because it helped him, but because he had an impression that it was the correct thing to do. Suddenly he bounded like an excited indiarubber ball.

‘I’ve got it!’ he cried. ‘What donkeys we are! All I’ll have to do is to untie the knots, and roll the sash into a little ball to throw up to you; then you’ll have to let the two ends down, and I’ll tie the knots again, and you’ll be able to draw up the can as easy as easy. Do you see?’

‘Oh yes!’ said Emmeline in a tone of great relief; ‘you are a good boy, Micky, to have thought of that. But make haste now and take Diamond Jubilee his supper; someone may come in any moment. I’m sorry I was cross, Kitty,’ she added, as Micky flitted across the lawn at a speed which was risky considering that he was carrying two tumblers of milk, and disappeared among the dark bushes round the summer-house, ‘but it was silly of you to think of jumping down. However would you have got back again? You couldn’t have swarmed up the water-pipe.’

‘I would have been able to if you hadn’t stopped me practising the other day,’ said Kitty, rather resentfully. It was her one grievance that she was not always allowed to follow Micky in his gymnastic feats. ‘When I’m grown up,’ she added, ‘I mean to have six daughters, and all the lessons they shall do will be learning to swarm up water-pipes!’

‘Hark! I do believe that’s someone coming!’ said Emmeline, looking frightened.

Footsteps were certainly mounting the back-stairs. Nearer and nearer they came, and Emmeline’s heart began to thump so hard that she could almost hear it. What if it should be Aunt Grace herself?

The footsteps passed by the schoolroom door without pausing, and Emmeline gave a gasp of relief. If only Micky would make haste and come back before someone really did come in!

‘You’d better go and undress, Kitty,’ she said nervously. I must wait here to take in the can, but there’s no need for you to stay, and if Aunt Grace or Jane come in and find you still here they will want to know why.’

It is hard to be ordered off to bed when one is in the middle of such an exciting thing as a plot, and poor Kitty looked so much disappointed that Emmeline had to comfort her by telling her to fetch her own tooth-glass to be filled with milk and hidden for the night in the schoolroom cupboard. That cheered her up again, and she went off to bed contentedly enough afterwards.

Before she had been gone more than a minute Micky and his empty tumblers returned.

‘Diamond Jubilee’s a greedy pig,’ he said, as he began fumbling with the knots.

‘People shouldn’t talk like that of their adopted children,’ said Emmeline, ‘and do, do make haste!’

‘Well, but he is,’ persisted Micky; ‘and I say, Emmeline, I can’t undo these knots.’

‘Oh, Micky, you must be able to undo your own knots!’ exclaimed Emmeline, almost in tears.

‘Well, I can’t, then,’ said Micky, after a few more desperate tugs, ‘and what’s more, it’s getting so dark I can hardly see.’

‘What is to be done?’ cried poor Emmeline.

‘P’r’aps you could catch hold of the sash if I toss up the middle,’ suggested Micky. They tried, but of course in vain. ‘Well, I’ll just have to wind it round my neck and swarm up with it,’ said Micky, and Emmeline saw that there was nothing else for it, though she felt very uneasy as to the fate of the tumblers.

Her fears were only too well justified. Micky found swarming up the water-pipe a far more difficult feat in the twilight, and with a heavy can almost throttling him, than it had been in broad daylight without a can. Several times he tried, and only slipped back panting to the ground.

‘I can’t do it with that beastly can,’ he declared at last. ‘I’ll have to leave it behind a bush just for to-night.’

‘But, Micky, Jane will come in and wonder where the glasses are,’ said Emmeline in despair, ‘and then it will all be found out. Oh dear! what shall we do?’

‘Oh, I’ll put the glasses in my trouser pockets,’ said Micky cheerfully; ‘I think there’ll be room if I turn out all the string and stuff.’

It took a minute or two for Micky to turn out all the ‘string and stuff’—under which designation he included such various articles as a broken pocket-knife, a half-eaten apple, odds and ends of sealing-wax, a piece of very messy toffee, marbles, old postage stamps, and crumbs of yet older biscuits—and a minute or two more to hide this and the can under a bush, and when at last he and the glasses had begun their journey up the water-pipe, it was not as prosperous as might have been wished. It is true that Micky, red, panting, and very dirty, did finally reach the schoolroom window-sill in safety, but this was not until after various adventures, in the course of which one of the tumblers was smashed to pieces, and the other rather badly cracked.

‘Oh dear, I wish we had never tried to get the milk out to Diamond Jubilee!’ sighed Emmeline, ‘if we had just taken him the biscuits it would have been keeping my promise, but I did so want to make a good impression this first evening!’

‘You haven’t made it, anyhow,’ said Micky, ‘he said he was still hungry even after he’d drunk the two glasses of milk!’

‘You’re sure you took him the two glasses?’ asked Emmeline, with sudden suspicion. ‘You didn’t drink some of it on the way, did you, Micky?’

‘Of course I didn’t,’ said Micky; ‘gentlemen never drink their guest’s—I mean their adopted children’s—milk, and, besides, I don’t like milk much. But I’m going to have a biscuit, anyhow.’

‘But, Micky, it’s just as bad for a gentleman to eat his adopted child’s biscuit as to drink his milk,’ said Emmeline.

‘No, it’s not; not when the gentleman’s been swarming up water-pipes till he’s as hungry as hungry,’ said Micky. ‘I tell you what, Emmeline, if you’ll let me have the other two biscuits, I’ll go and tell Aunt Grace I’m very sorry I’ve had an accident and broken two of the glasses. Then there won’t be any questions asked. Aunt Grace is much too jolly to bother you with questions when you go and tell of yourself.’

‘It doesn’t seem quite truthful, somehow,’ said Emmeline. ‘She’ll think you’ve been dropping the glasses on the floor or something like that.’

‘Well, I shan’t say so,’ said Micky stoutly, ‘and I did have an accident—several accidents.’

‘I suppose it’s all right,’ said Emmeline, still rather doubtfully; ‘and if you must have the biscuits, you must, but it’s rather horrid of you, Micky.’

‘No, it’s not horrid, it’s only hungry of me,’ said Micky, calmly helping himself to a biscuit; ‘you must remember I’ve got a long night before me.’

Micky did not have to go downstairs to make his confession to Aunt Grace, for she appeared in the schoolroom while he was in the middle of his second biscuit.

‘Why, Micky, you seem to be having a very lengthy supper to-night,’ she remarked, in her brisk, pleasant voice. ‘Do you know half-past eight has struck? And what has been happening to the glasses?’ she added, coming to the table and examining them.

‘I’ve had—several accidents,’ stammered Micky, turning red.

‘So it seems,’ said Aunt Grace rather dryly. ‘Is it the accidents which have taken you so long?’

‘Partly,’ said Micky, turning still redder, and looking so very uncomfortable that kind Aunt Grace took pity on him.

‘Well, we won’t say any more about it this once,’ she promised good-naturedly; ‘luckily, the glasses are only the common sort. But I’m afraid the next that gets broken you’ll have to pay for out of your pocket-money unless there’s some extra good reason for the accident. Do you see, old man? And now make haste and go to bed, for it’s shockingly late.’

‘Aunt Grace,’ cried Micky, flinging himself upon her and giving her one of his bear’s hugs, ‘you’re a—a ripper!’—a compliment which gratified Aunt Grace as much as any she had ever received.

Emmeline watched them with her curious aloofness. ‘Pretty people like Aunt Grace can get round everybody,’ she was thinking bitterly. ‘Even the twins are beginning to love her more than me!’

‘Good-night, Emmeline,’ said Aunt Grace, looking at her niece rather wistfully. She would have given a great deal for Emmeline to have hugged her as Micky had just done.

‘Good-night,’ said Emmeline, in a voice which sounded sulky, but was really unhappy, for jealousy is the most miserable feeling that anyone can have, except perhaps sea-sickness.

When Emmeline went to her room she found Kitty already in bed. Her eyes were shining with excitement. ‘Has Micky got back safe, and did Diamond Jubilee like his supper?’ she asked eagerly.

‘I don’t know—I don’t think he said,’ answered Emmeline, absently.

‘Do you know,’ continued Kitty, ‘I feel as if I’d had ten birthdays all in a lump to-day, and was a big grown-up woman of eighteen; for adopting somebody is an awfully grown-up thing to do, isn’t it, Emmeline?’

‘Yes,’ assented Emmeline, with a brightening face.

There was one person, at all events, who could never forsake her for Aunt Grace; Diamond Jubilee, at least, would never forget the one who had rescued him from a life of sin and misery. Under her gentle guidance he would grow into a very, very good man—perhaps even a clergyman or a missionary. Some day he would address a meeting like the one the other night, only much larger, and he would tell the story of his own life. ‘But for that child who rescued me when I was a ragged little boy, being brought up as a pickpocket, I might ere this have ended my life on the gallows,’ he would say, in a voice which would tremble with emotion. Emmeline could not quite make up her mind whether she herself would be present at this interesting meeting, or whether she would by that time be lying in a quiet grave, covered with the wreaths of white lilies which Diamond Jubilee would order, regardless of expense. On the whole she inclined to the latter alternative.

That night, as Aunt Grace brushed her hair, she was thinking of the twins, and what dear, merry little souls they were. ‘And Emmeline’s a splendid little person, too,’ she told herself loyally; she was always afraid of making a distinction, even in thought, between her love for the twins and her love for Emmeline. ‘How few children of her age could be safely trusted to take a younger brother and sister to a fair! It was odd of Mary to let them go, but I suppose it was out of her great good-nature and fear of disappointing them, and, after all, I suppose in her own circle it would seem quite a suitable arrangement that a little elder sister should take the younger ones. Well, anyhow, no harm has come of it.’

Perhaps Aunt Grace would have been less sure that no harm had come of it if she could have guessed that at that very moment Micky had jumped out of the schoolroom window, preparatory to spending the night with the disreputable little ragamuffin whom Emmeline had picked up at the fair.

‘Are you all right, Micky?’ Emmeline was asking anxiously. ‘Are you ready to have the blankets thrown out?’

The idea of taking the blankets from the unused spare-room bed had been a really brilliant inspiration.

‘Right as a trivet,’ said Micky, in a voice which, though cheery, was prudently subdued; ‘the bed’s so jolly soft. Yes, throw them out now. Well, if this isn’t the greatest lark!’

The moon was very bright, so that Emmeline and Kitty were able to watch the tangle of blankets and boy tottering across the lawn. Then it disappeared among the dark bushes, and the two girls crept back to their beds as quietly as they had left them.