“Oh, Ester,” she said, “are these biscuits done, or will they be sticky and hateful in the middle?”

How Ester laughed!  Then she came to the rescue. “Done—­of course they are, and beautifully, too.  Did you make them?  Here, I’ll take them out.  Sadie, where is mother?”

“In Mr. Holland’s room.  She has been there nearly all day.  Mr. Holland is no better, and Maggie has gone on an errand for them.  Why have you come?  Did the fairies send you?”

“And where are the children?”

“They have gone to walk.  Minie wanted mother every other minute, so Alfred and Julia have carried her off with them.  Say, you dear Ester, how did you happen to come?  How shall I be glad enough to see you?”

Ester laughed.  “Then I can’t see any of them,” she said by way of answer.  “Never mind, then we’ll have some tea.  You poor child, how very tired you look.  Just seat yourself in that chair, and see if I have forgotten how to work.”

And Sadie, who was thoroughly tired, and more nervous than she had any idea she could be, leaned luxuriously back in her mother’s chair, with a delicious sense of unresponsibility about her, and watched a magic spell come over the room.  Down came the shades in a twinkling, and the low red sun looked in on them no more; the table-cloth straightened itself; pickles and cheese and cake got out of their confused proximity, and marched each to their appropriate niche on the well-ordered table; a flying visit into well-remembered regions returned hard, sparkling, ice-crowned butter.  And when at last the fragrant tea stood ready to be served, and Ester, bright and smiling, stationed herself behind her mother’s chair, Sadie gave a little relieved sigh, and then she laughed.

“You’re straight from fairy land, Ester; I know it now.  That table-cloth has been crooked in spite of me for a week.  Maggie lays it, and I can not straighten it.  I don’t get to it.  I travel five hundred miles every night to get this supper ready, and it’s never ready.  I have to bob up for a fork or a spoon, or I put on four plates of butter and none of bread.  Oh there is witch work about it, and none but thoroughbred witches can get every thing, every little insignificant, indispensable thing on a table.  I can’t keep house.”

“You poor kitten,” said Ester, filled with very tender sympathy for this pretty young sister and feeling very glad indeed that she had come home, “Who would think of expecting a butterfly to spin?  You shall bring those dear books down from the attic to-morrow.  In the meantime, where is the tea-bell?”

“Oh, we don’t ring,” said Sadie, rising as she spoke.  “The noise disturbs Mr. Holland.  Here comes my first lieutenant, who takes charge of that matter.  My sister, Miss Ried, Dr. Douglass.”

And Ester, as she returned the low, deferential bow bestowed upon her, felt anew the thrill of anxiety which had come to her of late when she thought of this dangerous stranger in connection with her beautiful, giddy, unchristian sister.