They would be beautiful children, happy with their luxurious toys on the bear rug, and they would never be seen in any part of the house except the nursery.  Their deportment would be flawless, and—­

“Will-ee!”

The aviator struck a hole in the air; his heart misgave him.  Then he came to earth—­a sickening drop, and instantaneous.

“Will-ee!”

There was Jane, a figurine in a plastic state and altogether disgraceful;—­she came up out of the waters and stood before them with feet of clay, indeed; pedestaled upon the curbstone.

“Who is that curious child?” said Miss Pratt, stopping.

William shuddered.

“Was she calling you?” Miss Pratt asked, incredulously.

“Willie, I told you you better take an umbereller,” said Jane, “instead of papa’s cane.”  And she added, triumphantly, “Now you see!”

Moving forward, she seemed to have in mind a dreadful purpose; there was something about her that made William think she intended casually to accompany him and Miss Pratt.

“You go home!” he commanded, hoarsely.

Miss Pratt uttered a little scream of surprise and recognition.  “It’s your little sister!” she exclaimed, and then, reverting to her favorite playfulness of enunciation, “’Oor ickle sissa!” she added, gaily, as a translation.  Jane misunderstood it; she thought Miss Pratt meant “Our little sister.”

“Go home!” said William.

“No’ty, no’ty!” said Miss Pratt, shaking her head.  “Me ’fraid oo’s a no’ty, no’ty ickle dirl!  All datie!”

Jane advanced.  “I wish you’d let me carry Flopit for you,” she said.

Giving forth another gentle scream, Miss Pratt hopped prettily backward from Jane’s extended hands.  “Oo-oo!” she cried, chidingly.  “Mustn’t touch!  P’eshus Flopit all soap-water-wash clean.  Ickle dirly all muddy-nassy!  Ickle dirly must doe home, det all soap-water-wash clean like nice ickle sissa.  Evabody will love ’oor ickle sissa den,” she concluded, turning to William.  “Tell ‘oor ickle sissa mus’ doe home det soap-water-wash!”

Jane stared at Miss Pratt with fixed solemnity during the delivery of these admonitions, and it was to be seen that they made an impression upon her.  Her mouth slowly opened, but she spake not.  An extraordinary idea had just begun to make itself at home in her mind.  It was an idea which had been hovering in the neighborhood of that domain ever since William’s comments upon the conversation of Mr. Genesis, in the morning.

“Go home!” repeated William, and then, as Jane stood motionless and inarticulate, transfixed by her idea, he said, almost brokenly, to his dainty companion, “I don’t know what you’ll think of my mother!  To let this child—­”

Miss Pratt laughed comfortingly as they started on again.  “Isn’t mamma’s fault, foolish boy Baxter.  Ickle dirlies will det datie!”