Miss Hart, Delight's new governess, who came out from New York with Mr.
Spencer, listened to the doctor's story with a grave face.

"And I think, Miss Hart," said Doctor Mendel, in conclusion, "that you would better stay in Rockwell over night, and return to the city tomorrow."

"I don't think so!" said Miss Hart, with such emphasis that the three men looked at her in surprise.

"If you will go home with me," said Mr. Maynard, "Mrs. Maynard will give you a warm welcome, and then you can decide to-morrow on your further plans."

"No," said Miss Hart, who seemed to be a young woman of great decision of character, "I shall go straight to Mrs. Spencer's. I am engaged to go there to-night, and I want to go. I am not at all afraid of the diphtheria, and as Delight is perfectly well, she can begin her lessons just as we planned to do. This will keep her interested and prevent her from worrying as much as if she were idle. And then, if anything should happen, I will be there to assist Mrs. Spencer."

"Thank you, Miss Hart," said Mr. Spencer, shaking her hand. "You are a noble woman, and I shall be so glad to have you there with my wife. I've been trying to think how I could get a companion for her, but none of her city friends would enter the house, nor could they be expected to. And, of course, no Rockwell neighbors can go in. But you will be a tower of strength, and I shall be immensely relieved to have you there."

Doctor Mendel was pleased too, at the turn affairs had taken, for he feared Mrs. Spencer would break down under the nervous strain, if she had to bear her trouble alone.

So when Mr. Maynard took Mr. Spencer to his own home, Doctor Mendel took
Miss Hart to Mrs. Spencer's.

"I've brought you another visitor," he cried, cheerily, as he entered the quarantined house.

"Why, Doctor," said Mrs. Spencer, "you said nobody could come in!"

"No, not if they're to go out again. But Miss Hart has come to stay."

"Oh, how splendid!" cried Mrs. Spencer, "are you really willing to do so?"

"Yes, indeed," answered Miss Hart. "And it looks to me as if I should have two pupils instead of one." She looked kindly at Marjorie, who smiled in return, though she did not at all feel sure that she wanted lessons added to her other troubles.

But Miss Hart seemed to ignore the fact that there were any troubles for anybody.

She talked pleasantly, even gaily, with Mrs. Spencer. She chatted merrily with Delight and Marjorie; and she even went out and spoke very kindly to the afflicted Maggie. And it was partly due to her suggestions that Mary, who was acting as cook, added some special dainties to the menu, and sent up an unusually good dinner. The party that gathered round the table was not a sad one, but this was due to the combined efforts of Miss Hart and Marjorie.

Midget remembered her father's rules, and pretended she was just staying with the Spencers for one night. She was so fond of "pretending," that this part came easy. Then she had put out of her mind the idea that she might have the diphtheria, and moreover, she was trying really hard not to be sorry for herself. In consequence of all this, she was gay and merry, and she was helped to be so by Miss Hart, who was good cheer itself.

The new governess was a pretty little woman, with smooth dark hair, and snapping black eyes, that seemed to read people's innermost thoughts. Although not entirely unacquainted with the Spencers, she had never before lived with them, but had been governess in the family of a friend of theirs. She was anxious for this new position, and Mrs. Spencer, who had been pleased to have her come, was doubly glad to have her in this emergency.

"We won't begin to-morrow," said Miss Hart, when the subject of lessons was broached, "but I think we'll begin next day. We'll spend to-morrow getting acquainted, and learning to like each other. You'll join the class, won't you, Marjorie?"

"Yes, I think I'd like study that way," said Midge; "but I don't like school."

"I'll guarantee you'll like study in our class," said Miss Hart, smiling; "you'll be sorry when school hours are over."

Midge could hardly think this, but of one thing she was certain, that
Miss Hart would be a pleasant teacher.

Soon after dinner, Marjorie's suitcase arrived.

James brought it over, and set it on the front porch and rang the bell. Then he went away before the door was opened, as he had been instructed to do.

When Marjorie opened the bag she found a note from each of the family, and they were all written in verse.

She read them aloud to the Spencer household and soon they were all laughing at the nonsense rhymes.

Her mother had written:

"Midget, Midget,
Don't be in a fidget.
Don't be sad and tearful,
Just be gay and cheerful;
Don't be sadly sighing,
For the days are flying,
And some day or other
You'll come home to
MOTHER."

"Why, that's as good as a valentine," said Miss Hart, as Midget finished reading the lines.

"So it is!" said Marjorie, smiling; "I'm going to pretend they're all valentines. Here's father's."

"Marjorie, Midget Mopsy,
The world is tipsy-topsy!
When I am here
And you are there
I feel all wipsy-wopsy!
But soon you will be home once more,
And all will be as it was before;
So make the most of your fortnight's stay,
For I cannot spare you another day!"

By this time Delight's spirits had risen to such an extent that she exclaimed:

"I think it's splendid to have Marjorie here for two weeks!"

"We'll make a picnic of it," said Miss Hart. "You girls won't often have two weeks together, so we must cram all the pleasure into it we can."

Cramming pleasure into this dreadful time was a new idea to Delight, but she was willing to agree to it, and Marjorie said:

"I think we can be happy if we try. But we have to forget the bad parts and only remember the good."

"That's it," said Miss Hart. "Now read us another of your letters. I'm sure they're good parts."

"This one is from King,—that's Kingdon, my brother," explained Marjorie, as she took up the next note.

"Mops is a captive Princess now,
She can't get out of prison;
But when it's time to let her go,
Oh, won't she come home whizzin'!
This poetry isn't very good,
But it's the best that I can sing,
I would do better if I could,
And I'm your loving brother
KING."

"What a jolly boy!" said Miss Hart, "I'd like to know him."

"You will," said Midget, "after our two weeks' picnic is over." She smiled at Miss Hart as she said this, accepting her idea of making a picnic of their enforced imprisonment.

"Now, here's Kitty's," she went on. "Kitty's not a very good poet, but she always wants to do what the rest do."

"Marjorie Maynard nice and sweet,
Has to stay across the street.
Fourteen days and fourteen nights,
Visiting her friend Delight.
Marjorie Maynard, nice and pretty,
Come home soon to sister
KITTY."

"Why, I think that's fine," said Miss Hart. "Your family are certainly devoted to you."

"Yes, they are," said Midget. "There's another,—Rosy Posy,—but she's only five. She can't write poetry."

"Can you?" asked Miss Hart.

"Yes, I can make as good verses as Kit; but not as good as King or father. We always make verses for each other on birthdays, so we get lots of practise. And we made some valentine verses this afternoon, didn't we, Delight?"

"Yes, that is, you did. But, oh, Marjorie, we can't send those valentines! Nothing like that can go out of the house!"

"Oh, pshaw, I don't believe they could do any harm."

"Well, Doctor Mendel said we mustn't send a letter of any sort, and a valentine is just the same, you know."

"What do you think, Miss Hart?" asked Marjorie.

"I'm afraid you can't send them, my dear. But we'll ask the doctor.
Perhaps, if they're disinfected—"

"Oh, horrors!" cried Midget; "a valentine disinfected! Of all things! Why, it would smell of that horrid sulphur stuff instead of a sweet violet scent! Nobody would want that sort of a valentine."

"No, they wouldn't," agreed Delight. "Oh, dear, it's too bad!"

"Never mind, Delight," said Marjorie. "We can send valentines to each other, and to Miss Hart, and to your mother. Oh, yes, and to Maggie and Mary. I guess that's about all. But everybody can send them to us! That will be lots of fun! It seems selfish, doesn't it, to get lots of valentines and not send any? But it isn't selfish, because we can't help it."

"I can send to my friends in New York," said Delight, thoughtfully, "by letting father get them and send them. I can telephone him a list, you know. It isn't as much fun as if I picked them out myself, but I don't want the girls to think I've forgotten them."

"If they know about the quarantine, they won't open the valentines," suggested Marjorie; "they'll think they came from this house, and they'll be frightened."

"That's so," agreed Delight; "unless they look at the postmark and it's
New York."

"Well, then, if they don't know your father's writing, they'll never know they came from you anyway."

"No, they won't. But then people never are supposed to know who sends a valentine."

"Then what's the good of sending any?"

"Oh, it always comes out afterward. I hardly ever get any that I don't find out who they're from, sooner or later."

"Nor I either. Well, we'll do the best we can."

Marjorie sighed a little, for Valentine Day was always a gay season in the Maynard home, but she had promised not to be sorry for herself, so she put the thought away from her mind.

As Mrs. Spencer's room opened into Delight's, she decided to give that to Marjorie, and take the guest room herself. She felt sorry for the child, held there by an unfortunate accident, and determined to do all she could to make her stay pleasant. And she thought, too, it would please Delight to have Marjorie in the room next her own. So when the two girls went upstairs that night, they were greatly pleased to find themselves in communicating rooms.

"We can pretend, while we're getting ready for bed," said Delight, and soon, in her little kimono, and bedroom slippers, she stalked into Midget's room and said, with despairing gestures:

"Fellow princess, our doom hath befell. We are belocked in a prison grim, and I fear me, nevermore will we be liberated."

"Say not so, Monongahela," answered Marjorie, clasping her hands.
"Methinks ere morning dawns, we may yet be free."

"Nay, oh, nay! the terrible jailer, the Baron Mendel, he hast decreed that we stay be jailed for two years."

"Two years!" gasped Midget, falling in a pretended swoon. "Ere that time passes, I shall be but a giggling maniac."

"Gibbering, you mean. Aye, so shall I."

"Well, stop your gibbering for to-night," said Mrs. Spencer, who came in, laughing; "you can gibber to-morrow, if you like, but now you must go to bed. Fly, fair princess, with golden hair!"

Delight flew, and Mrs. Spencer tucked Marjorie up in bed, in an effort to make the child feel at home.

There wasn't the least resemblance between Mrs. Spencer's ways, and those of her own mother, but Marjorie was appreciative of her hostess's kind intent, and said good-night to Mrs. Spencer very lovingly. At first, there was a strong inclination to cry a little, but remembering she must not be sorry for herself, Marjorie smiled instead, and in a few moments she was smiling in her sleep. Next morning, she put on the morning dress that had come over in the suitcase, and went downstairs with Delight.

"It's just like having a sister," said Delight. "I do believe, Marjorie, I'm glad all this happened. Of course, I don't mean I'm glad Maggie's baby is so sick, but I'm glad you're staying here."

"I can't quite say that, Delight, but as I am here, I'm not going to fuss about it. There's the telephone! perhaps it's Father!"

It was Mr. Maynard, and his cheery good-morning did Marjorie's heart good.

"All serene on the Rappahannock?" he asked.

"All serene!" replied Marjorie. "The verses were fine! I was so glad to get them."

"Did you sleep well? Have you a good appetite for breakfast? Did you remember my rules? May I send you a small gift to-day? Do you think it will rain? Don't you want your kitten sent over?"

"Wait,—wait a minute," cried Marjorie. "Your questions come so fast I can't answer them,—but, yes, I would like a small gift to-day."

"Aha! I thought you'd pick out that question of all the bunch to answer. Well, you'll get it when I return from the great city. Meantime, be good and you'll be happy, and I'm proud of you, my little girl."

"Proud of me! Why?"

"Because I can tell by your voice that you're cheerful and pleasant, and that's all I ask of you. Good-bye, Mopsy, I must go for my train. The others will talk to you later on."

"Good-bye, Father, and I would like the kitten sent over."

Marjorie left the telephone with such a happy face that Miss Hart, who had just come downstairs, said:

"I'm sure you had pleasant messages from home."

"Yes, indeed," said Midget. "It was Father. He's always so merry and jolly."

"And you inherit those traits. I like fun, too. I think we shall be great friends."

"I think so too," agreed Midget, and then they all went to breakfast.

The day started auspiciously enough, but after Midge had telephoned to the rest of her family there seemed to be nothing to do. Delight had a headache, brought on probably by the excitement of the day before, and she didn't feel like playing princess.

There was no use finishing the valentines, for Doctor Mendel said they must not send them to anybody.

Miss Hart was in her own room, and the morning dragged.

Marjorie almost wished she could go to school, and she certainly wished she could go out to play. But the doctor's orders were strict against their leaving the house, so she sat down in the library to read a story-book. Delight wandered in.

"I think you might entertain me," she said; "my head aches awfully."

"Shall I read to you?" asked Midget. She had had little experience with headaches, and didn't quite know what to do for them.

"Yes, read a fairy story."

So Midget good-naturedly laid aside her own book, and read aloud to
Delight until her throat was tired.

"Go on," said Delight, as she paused.

"I can't," said Midget, "for it hurts my throat."

"Oh, pshaw, what a fuss you are! I think you might read; it's the only thing that makes me forget my headache."

So Marjorie began again, and read until Delight fell asleep.

"I'm glad I kept on," thought Midget to herself; "though it did make my throat all scratchy. But I mustn't be sorry for myself, so I'm glad I was sorry for Delight. Maybe a little nap will make her head better."