Flea pricked up her ears, and a sad smile crossed her lips.  “Ye mean, Ma’m,” said she, “that Flukey can sleep in a real bed and have doctor’s liniments for his bones?”

Ann nodded.  “Yes.  Now then hurry!...  Look at that poor little boy!”

Flukey was on his knees, leaning against the wall, his feverish fingers clutching his curls.

“Horace!  Horace!” called Ann.

Shellington opened the dining-room door and went out hurriedly, leaving Everett Brimbecomb and Katherine Vandecar still surveying the disarranged table.

“It all seems strange to me, Katherine; I mean—­this,” said Everett, waving his hand.  “I scarcely believed Horace when he said he had allowed it.”

As he spoke, he approached the table and lifted the soiled cloth between his fingers.

“You can see for yourself,” he said, “the marks of the pig’s feet on the linen.”

Katherine examined the spots.  “But it really doesn’t matter, does it?” she said.  “The poor little animals were hungry, and Horace has such a big heart!” and she sighed.

Everett made an angry gesture.  “But I object to Ann having anything to do with such—­” he hesitated and finished, “such youngsters.  There’s no need of it.”

“Oh, Everett—­but those two children must be cared for!  Horace will come back in a few minutes, and then we’ll know all about it.”

“In the meantime I’m hungry,” grumbled Everett, “and if we’re going to the theater—­”

He had no time to finish his sentence before Horace, with a grave countenance, opened the door.

“I’m sorry, Katherine,” he apologized, and then stopped; for he noticed Everett’s face dark with anger.  Shellington did not forget that his friends had come to dinner; but he had just witnessed a scene that had touched his heart, and he determined to make both of his guests understand it also.

[Illustration:  “I’m goin’ to take his kids—­and I’ll make of ’em what I be.”]

“The evening has turned out differently from what Ann and I expected,” he explained.  “The fact is that sister can’t go to the theater, and I feel that I ought to stay with her.  So, we’ll order another dinner, and then, Everett, if you and Katherine don’t—­” His fingers had touched the bell as he was speaking; but Everett stopped him.

“If the boy is too ill to be taken to a hospital,” he said coldly, “Ann might be persuaded to leave him with the servants.”

“Yes, I suggested that,” answered Horace; “but she refused.  The boy has somehow won her heart, and the doctor will be here at any moment.”

A servant appeared, and in a half-hour the table was spread with another dinner.  Ann’s coming to the dining-room did not raise the spirits of the party; for her eyes were red from weeping, and she refused to eat.

“I’ve never known before, Everett,” she said, “that children could suffer as that little boy does.”