It was something awful. The doctor diagnosed the child's case as diphtheria, and proceeded at once to take the steps ordered by the Board of Health in such cases.

Mrs. Spencer wanted to send the little one to the hospital, but Doctor Mendel said that would not be allowed. So the house was to be disinfected, and a strict quarantine maintained until all danger should be past.

"The woman and her child must be put in certain rooms, and not allowed to leave them," said the doctor; "and no one in the house must go out of it, and no one out of it may come in."

"What!" cried Mrs. Spencer, in dismay, thinking of Marjorie. And Marjorie and Delight, unable to keep away any longer, came into the room just in time to hear the doctor's statement.

"What's the matter, mother?" cried Delight. "Tell me about it! Is
Maggie's little boy going away?"

"You tell her, Doctor Mendel," said Mrs. Spencer; "I can't."

"Why, Marjorie Maynard?" exclaimed the doctor, "are you here? Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish!"

Although the Spencers had never seen Doctor Mendel before, he was the Maynards' family physician, and he realized at once the great misfortune of Marjorie's presence in the infected house.

"Yes, I'm here," said Midget; "can't I go home?"

"No, child," said Doctor Mendel, gravely; "you cannot leave this house until all danger of infection is over. That will be two weeks at least, and perhaps more."

"And can't Mr. Spencer come home?" asked Mrs. Spencer.

"No; unless he stays here after he comes in. He can not go back and forth to New York every day."

Mrs. Spencer looked utterly bewildered. Accustomed to depend upon her husband in any emergency, she felt quite unable to meet this situation.

"And there is danger of these two girls having diphtheria?" she said, in a scared voice, as if anxious to know the worst at once.

"There is grave danger, Mrs. Spencer, for all in the house. But we will hope by careful treatment to avoid that. The quarantine, however, is imperative. You must not let your servants or your family go out into the street, nor must you allow any one except myself to come in."

"Oh, Doctor Mendel," cried Marjorie, "how can I see Mother?"

"You can't see her. I'm sorry, Marjorie, but you simply can not go home, nor can she come here."

"And I'll have to have diphtheria, and die, without seeing her at all!"

"Tut, tut! You're not going to have diphtheria, I hope. These precautions are necessary, because of the law, but you're by no means sure to take the disease."

"Delight will," said Mrs. Spencer, in a hopeless tone. "She's so delicate, and so subject to throat affections. Oh, how can I stand all this without any one to help me? Can't I have a trained nurse?"

Doctor Mendel almost laughed at the lady's request.

"Of course you may, as soon as there's a patient for her to take care of. But you surely don't want one when there's no illness in this part of the house."

"Why, so there isn't!" said Mrs. Spencer, looking greatly relieved. "I'm so bewildered I felt that these two children were already down with diphtheria."

"It's a very trying situation," went on Doctor Mendel, looking kindly at Mrs. Spencer. "For I do not see how your husband can come home, if he wants to continue at his business. And surely, there's no use of his coming home, so long as there's no illness in your immediate family. He would better stay in New York."

"Oh, not in New York," cried Mrs. Spencer. "He can come to Rockwell every night, and stay at the hotel or some place."

"Yes, that would be better; then you can telephone often."

"And I can telephone to Mother!" said Midget, who was beginning to see a brighter side.

"Yes, of course," agreed the doctor. "I'll go there, and tell her all about it."

"Won't she be surprised!"

"Yes, I fancy she will! Do you want her to send you some clothes?"

"Why, yes; I s'pose so. I never thought of that! Oh, I'd rather go home!"

The bright side suddenly faded, and Midget's curly head went down in her arm, and she shook with sobs. A vision of home, and the dear family around the dinner-table, while she was exiled in a strange house, was too much for her.

"Now, Marjorie," said the doctor, "you must bear this bravely. It is hard, I know, but Mrs. Spencer is by far the greatest sufferer. Here she is, with two children to look after, and her husband shut out from his home, and her servants in a state of unreasoning terror. I think you two girls should brace up, and help Mrs. Spencer all you can."

"I think so, t-too," said Midget, in a voice still choking with tears, and then Delight began to cry.

Her crying wasn't a sudden outburst like Marjorie's, but a permanent sort of affair, which she pursued diligently and without cessation.

Mrs. Spencer paid little attention to the two weeping children, for the poor lady had other responsibilities that required her attention.

"What about Maggie, Doctor?" she asked.

"She must stay here, of course. And, as she can't go to a hospital, she will probably prefer to stay here. Your waitress may desert you, but I will tell her if she goes, it is in defiance of the law, and she will be punished. I trust, Mrs. Spencer, that there will be no more illness here, and the worst will be the inconvenience of this quarantine. At any rate we will look at it that way, so long as there are no signs of infection. Now, I will go over to the Maynards and explain matters to them, and I will meet Mr. Spencer at the train, and he will telephone you at once. Meantime, I will myself superintend the disinfection of this house. And remember, while there is danger for the two little girls, I do not think it probable that they will be affected."

"I hope not," said Mrs. Spencer, sighing. "And here's another thing, Doctor. I expect a governess for Delight, a Miss Hart, who is to come with Mr. Spencer on the train this evening. She should be warned."

"Yes, indeed. I'll meet them at the train, and attend to that for you. Probably she'll remain at the hotel over night, and go back to the city to-morrow."

"She could go to our house to stay," said Marjorie. She was still crying, but she loved to make plans. "Then she could telephone the lessons over to Delight, and I could learn a little too. Oh, I won't have to go to school for two weeks!"

This was a consolation, and the happy thought entirely stopped Marjorie's tears.

Not so Delight. She cried on, softly, but steadily, until Midget looked at her with real curiosity.

"What do you cry that way for, Delight?" she said. "It doesn't do any good."

Delight looked at her, but wept industriously on.

"Oh, come," said Midget, "let's look for the bright side. Let's pretend I've come to visit you for two weeks, and let's have some fun out of this thing."

"How can you talk so?" said Delight, through her tears. "We may both be dead in two weeks."

"Nonsense!" cried Doctor Mendel; "no more of that sort of talk! If you're so sure of having diphtheria, I'll send you to the hospital at once."

Delight did not know the doctor as well as Marjorie did, and this suggestion frightened her.

She tried to stop crying, and smile, and she succeeded fairly well.

"That's better," said the doctor. "Now, I'm going across the street. Marjorie, what message do you want to send your mother? Of course she'll send over some clothes and things. You can have anything you want sent, but don't have needless things, for they must all be disinfected later, and it might harm your best clothes."

"Oh, I shan't want my best clothes, since we can't have company or parties," said Midget, interested now, in spite of herself. "Tell Mother to send my night things; and my red cashmere for to-morrow morning, and my other red hair ribbons, and my pink kimono, and my worsted slippers, and that book on my bureau, the one with the leaf turned down, and some handkerchiefs, and—"

"There, there, child, I can't remember those things, and your mother will know, anyway,—except about the book with the leaf turned down,—I'll tell her that. And you can telephone her, you know."

"Oh, so I can! That will be almost like seeing her. Can't I telephone now?"

"No, I'd rather tell her about it myself. Then I'll tell her to call you up, and you can give her your list of hair ribbons and jimcracks."

"All right then. Hurry up, Doctor, so I can talk to her soon."

Doctor Mendel went away, and Marjorie and Delight sat and looked at each other. Mrs. Spencer had gone to the kitchen to arrange for the comfort of the distressed mother, and the little girls were trying to realize what had happened.

"I'm glad you're here," said Delight, "for I'd be terribly lonely without you, in all this trouble."

Midget was silent. She couldn't honestly say she was glad she was there, and yet to say she was sorry seemed unkind.

"Well, as long as I am here," she said at last, "I'm glad you're glad. It's all so strange! To be here staying in Gladys's house, and Gladys not here, and I can't get away even if I want to,—why, I can't seem to get used to it."

"It's awful!" said Mrs. Spencer, coming in from the kitchen. "I hope your mother won't blame me, Marjorie; I'm sure I couldn't help it."

"Of course she won't blame you, Mrs. Spencer. She'll only be sorry for you."

"But she'll be so worried about you."

"Yes'm; I s'pose she will. But maybe, if I do take it, it will be a light case."

"Oh, don't talk of light cases! I hope you won't have it at all,—either of you."

After what seemed to Marjorie a long time of waiting, her mother called her up on the telephone.

"My dear little girl," said Mrs. Maynard, "how shall I get along without you for two weeks?"

"Oh, Mother," said Marjorie, "you have the others, but I haven't anybody!
How shall I get along without you?"

Marjorie's voice was trembling, and though Mrs. Maynard was heart-broken she forced herself to be cheerful for Midget's sake.

"Well, dearie," she said, "we must make the best of it. I'll telephone you three times a day,—or at least, some of us will,—and I'll write you letters."

"Oh, will you, Mother? That will be lovely!"

"Yes, I'll write you every day. You can receive letters although you can't send any. Now, I want you to be my own brave little daughter, and not only try to be cheerful and pleasant yourself, but cheer up Mrs. Spencer and Delight."

"Yes, Mother, I will try. I feel better already, since I've heard your voice."

"Of course you do. And Father will talk to you when he comes home, and to-morrow Kitty and King can talk, and you'll almost feel as if you were at home."

"Yes,—but oh, Mother, it's awful, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't awful at all, unless you get ill But we won't cross that bridge until we come to it. Now, I'll send over a suitcase to-night, and then I can send more things to-morrow."

"Yes, Mother. And put in your picture, won't you? The one on my mantelpiece, I mean. Then I'll have it to kiss good-night to."

Mrs. Maynard's voice choked a little, but she said:

"Yes, dear, I will. Good-bye for now; we mustn't monopolize Mrs.
Spencer's telephone."

"Good-bye," said Midget, reluctantly, and hung up the receiver, feeling that now she was indeed an exile from her home. But not long after, she was called to the telephone again, and her father's cheery voice said:

"Why, Marjorie Midget Mopsy Maynard! What's this I hear about your deserting your home and family?"

"Oh, Father dear, isn't it terrible!"

"Why, I don't know as it is. You'll have a fine visit with your little friend, and you won't have to go to school, and I should think you'd have a fine time! But some people are never satisfied!"

"Now, don't tease, Father. You know I'll just go crazy with homesickness to see you all again!"

"Oh, well, if you really do go crazy, I'll put you in a nice pretty little lunatic asylum that I know of. But before your mind is entirely gone, I want you to have a good time with Delight, and I'll help all I can."

"I don't see how you can help much, if I can't see you."

"You don't, eh? Well, you'll find out, later on. But just now, I'm going to give you three rules, and I want you to obey them. Will you?"

"Of course I will, Father. What are they?"

"First, never think for a moment that you're going to catch that sore throat that the cook's little boy has. I don't think you are, and I don't want to think so. Promise?"

"Yes, I promise. What next?"

"Next; never think that you're to stay over there two weeks. Never use the words at all. Just think each day, that you're merely staying that one night, and that you're just staying for fun. See?"

"Yes; I'll promise, but it won't be easy."

"Make it easy then. I'll help you. And third, don't feel sorry for yourself."

"Oh, Father, I do!"

"Well, don't! If you want to feel sorry for somebody, choose some one else, a poor Hottentot, or a lame kangaroo, or even your old father. But, mind, it's a rule, you're not to feel sorry for Marjorie Maynard."

"That's a funny rule. But I'll try to mind it."

"That's my own dear daughter. Now, to begin. As you're to stay with Delight to-night, we're sending over your night things. Go to bed early and sleep well, so you can wake bright and fresh and have fun playing all day to-morrow."

All this sounded so gay and pleasant that Marjorie was really very much cheered up, and replied gaily:

"All right, Daddy; I'll do just as you say. And will you call me up to-morrow morning before you go to New York?"

"Yes, of course I will. Now, good-night,—just the same as a good-night at home."

"Good-night, Father," and Midget hung up the receiver again.

By this time Delight had stopped her crying, and Mrs. Spencer had become a little more resigned to the unpleasant state of things. The servants had consented to stay, for the present, and their decision was more due to Doctor Mendel's hints about the law, than their own loyalty to Mrs. Spencer.

Then Doctor Mendel had met Mr. Spencer at the railroad station, and had explained affairs to him.

Although it seemed very hard it was thought advisable by all interested, that Mr. Spencer should not go to his home at all. His business, which was large and important, required his presence every day, and to take two weeks away from it just at that time would be disastrous in effect.

Mr. Maynard, who was present at the interview, invited Mr. Spencer to stay at his home until the quarantine should be raised, and this offer of hospitality was gratefully accepted.

"It seems only fair," said Mr. Maynard, "that we should entertain you, as you have our Marjorie as a guest at your house."

"An unwilling guest, I fear," said Mr. Spencer, with a sad smile.

"But ready to make the best of it, as we all must be," rejoined Mr.
Maynard.