“Oh, here’s a gondola stopped at our door,” broke in Eva, who, taking advantage of Miss Higginson’s attention being occupied elsewhere, was looking out of the window.  “There’s a boy in it lying down—­a big boy.  Oh, a man’s just got out and—­yes, they’re bringing the boy in here!

“Sakes alive!” cried Mehitabel, dropping Stevie’s book on the floor and starting for the door.  “Can it possibly be Mr. Joseph and Dave?”

“Uncle Joe and Dave!” “Hurrah!” exclaimed Kate and Stevie in the same breath; and Eva having scrambled down from the window, the three children collected at the head of the stairs to watch, with breathless interest, the procession which came slowly up.

The tall man on the right was their Uncle Joe Lawrence—­Kate and Eva and Stevie remembered him at once, for he had visited their parents several times since they had been in Europe; and the bright-eyed, pale-faced boy who lay huddled up in the chair which he and Guiseppi carried between them must be their Cousin Dave, of whom they had heard so much.  Poor Dave! he had fallen from a tree last summer, and struck his back, and the concussion had caused paralysis of the lower part of the spine, so that he could not walk a step, and might not for years, though the doctors gave hope that he would eventually recover the use of his legs.  The children gazed at him with the deepest interest and sympathy, and they were perfectly astonished when, as the chair passed them, Dave turned his head, and, in answer to their smiling greetings, deliberately made a frightful face at them!

“Isn’t he the rudest!” gasped Eva, as the procession—­Miss Higginson bringing up the rear—­disappeared behind the doors of the guest room; while Kate and Stevie were, for once in their lives, too amazed to be able to express their feelings.

After what seemed a long time to the children, Mehitabel rejoined them.  “I am in a pucker,” she said, sinking into a chair.  Her curls were disarranged, and her spectacles were pushed up on her forehead; she looked worried.  “And there isn’t a creature to turn to for advice; that Italian in the kitchen doesn’t speak a blessed word of English, and Guiseppi’s not much better.  He keeps saying, ‘Si signorina,’ and wagging his head like a Chinese mandarin, until he fairly makes me dizzy, and I know all the time he doesn’t understand half I’m saying.”

Miss Higginson paused to take breath, then, feeling the positive necessity of unburdening herself further, continued her tale of woe:  “Here’s your Uncle Joseph obliged to go right on to Paris within the hour, and here’s Dave to remain here till his pa returns, which mayn’t be for weeks.  And he requires constant care, mansage (she meant massage) treatment and everything—­and just as domineering and imperdent; Stevie’s bad enough, but Dave goes ahead of him.  And, to make matters worse, here comes a letter from your pa saying he and your ma have met with old friends at Naples, and not to expect ’em home until we see them.  Anyway, I’d made up my mind not to shorten their holiday, ’less it was a matter of life and death.