“What are you talking about, Pat?”

“Children.”  Patricia was leading the way upstairs.  “I got Mrs. Brown, down at the hotel, on the ’phone.  I wish you could have heard her!”

“Children!  I should say so, Miss Patricia!  Five of them crying in my own sitting-room at this minute.  No, not hurt; frightened out of their wits, and their own people too hurt to look after them.  And when I asked if I might have them up here, Nell, I wish you could have heard her.  She’s sending them right up in one of the hotel rigs.”

“But, Patricia—­”

“There aren’t any buts in this affair.  We’ll take Aunt Julia’s room and mine.  It won’t do to turn Daddy out of his, and I must have communicating ones.”

“But your aunt—­” Nell began again.

“Oh, Aunt Julia’ll understand.”  Patricia was kneeling before the deep fireplace in her aunt’s room, piling it generously with wood from the box in the corner.

“Miss P’tricia, what yo’ up ter?” Sarah demanded, unexpectedly, from the doorway.  “Yo’ know Miss Julia don’ like a fire in her room nights—­an’ de house like summer now, wid de furnuss!”

“Aunt Julia isn’t sleeping here tonight,” Patricia answered, calmly; “and I particularly want the room cheerful; you know, there’s nothing like an open fire for making things cheerful.”

“Miss P’tricia, what yo’ be’n doin’?”

And Patricia explained.

Sarah rolled her black eyes ceiling-wards.  “Who ever heerd tell o’ sich doin’s!  I’d jus’ like ter know who done gib yo’ commission ter do this, Miss P’tricia!  An’ whatever is yo’ goin’ do wid five strange young uns?”

“Make them happy and comfortable, I hope,” Patricia laughed.  “There they are now.  Start a fire in my room, please, Sarah, and make up a bed on my lounge.  Come on, Nell,” and Patricia was out of the room and downstairs in a flash.

Before the steps stood the carriage from the hotel, and from within it five white, frightened little faces looked anxiously out.

Patricia made straight for the youngest one, a two-year-old girl.  “You poor baby!” she cried, softly.

Heedless, impulsive, Patricia had at least the gift of winning her way right to a child’s heart; and without a moment’s hesitation the child put a pair of clinging little arms about her neck.

She and Nell took the five into the warm, bright sitting-room, where they took off hats and coats and gently rubbed the cold little hands.  “Why, you’re not much more than babies, any of you!” Patricia glanced pityingly from one to another of her proteges.

“I’m seven,” the oldest answered.  “I’m Norma Howard; she’s my little sister Totty.”  She pointed to the baby on Patricia’s lap.  “She keeps crying for Mama—­Mama was hurt,” Norma hid her face against Patricia.

Patricia slipped an arm about her.  “I shouldn’t wonder if my Daddy were looking after her right now.  He’s the best doctor in the whole world!” She turned to the two little boys, staring up at her from the depths of the doctor’s big chair:  “And are you brothers?”