“Hush!” whispered Betty, with hand on the latch, “I hope she is still sleeping.  Moppet came into my room in the night, Aunt Euphemia, and was so cold and shivering that I went back with her and put her to bed.  I got a drink of milk for her, and it seemed to quiet her.”

“That was quite right,” said Miss Euphemia.  “I have been afraid that the plunge in the pond did her some injury,” and she opened the door softly, only to see Miss Moppet’s curly head rise up from her pillow, and to hear her say with a sleepy yawn:—­

“What is it all about?  Where’s Betty?”

“Here I am,” said Betty, giving her a kiss.  “Did you sleep soundly after the milk?”

“Yes, and I want some more,” said Moppet, seizing the situation with such alacrity that Betty suspected on the instant that the keen little ears had been on the alert for more minutes than Moppet cared to acknowledge.  “What are you all coming in for?  Is it dinner-time?”

“No,” interrupted Pamela, “we have not even had breakfast.  Captain Yorke has escaped in the night”—­

“Escaped!” cried Moppet, the liveliest curiosity in her tone.  “Oh, I’m so glad!  Aren’t you, Betty?”

“Better not let Oliver hear you say that,” said Pamela in an undertone as Miss Euphemia drew Betty aside.

“How did he get out?” said Moppet, giving way to laughter.  “Oh, what a ruffle Oliver must be in.”

“Naughty child,” said Pamela, but unable to help smiling at Moppet’s view of the situation.  “Did you happen to hear any noises on the roof or in the big elm last night?”

“Not a sound,” said Moppet, like Betty rejoicing inwardly that she could reply truthfully, for the little maid had never told a lie in her short life, and had indeed spent a wakeful half hour that very morning wondering how she would be able to evade any questions that might be put to her.  “Did Captain Yorke climb out of his window and go down the big elm, Pamela?  Do you know I thought of that at supper.”

“He could not open the window, Moppet,” answered Pamela, “but he did go down the tree from the roof, whence he climbed from the chimney here.”

“Moppet, you must instantly dress or you will lake cold,” said Miss Euphemia, interrupting, to Betty’s relief, “and I will be glad if Betty will assist you, for I must go down and see if breakfast be still hot, as no one is ready yet to eat it,” and out went Miss Euphemia, calling the others to follow her.

“What do you think of all this?” asked Pamela of Betty.

“What do you suppose?” flashed out Betty, whose quick tongue had been so long restrained that it was absolute relief to her to speak her mind.  “I am as glad as I can possibly be that Captain Yorke has escaped, and if that be disloyal”—­finished the spirited little maid, mindful of Patrick Henry—­“make the most of it!”

“Oh, Betty!” cried Pamela, shocked beyond expression.

“It is I that should be shocked, not you,” went on Betty.  “Do you hold Moppet’s dear life as nothing?  Do you not wish to acknowledge an obligation when it is doubly due?  I am ashamed of you, Pamela,—­you and Oliver.  I would my father were here to make you see both sides of a question clearly.”