“Now, what I want to know is this:  who is going to wait on that sick boy from morning to night?  And that’s what he’ll have to have for he can’t stir off his couch, can’t even sit up, and wanting something every five minutes.  I’m sure I can’t keep the house, and see to the servants, and take care of you children, and besides wait on that exacting young one.  ’Tain’t in human nature to do it—­anyway, ’tain’t in me.  And Dave’s temper’s at the bottom of the whole thing; he won’t have Guiseppi or any other Italian I could get, and he’s just worn out the patience of his French vally till he got disgusted and wouldn’t put up with it any longer for love nor money.  His father’s got to go, and who is to take care of that boy?”

Mehitabel’s voice actually quivered.  The children had never seen her so moved; the differences of the morning were all forgotten, and they crowded about her, their little faces full of loving sympathy.  “I wish I could help you, Hitty,” said Kate, patting the old housekeeper’s hand.  “Is mansage treatment a kind of medicine ’cause if it is I might give it to Dave—­you know I drop mamma’s medicine for her sometimes.”

“No, child, mansage is a certain way of rubbing the body, and it needs more strength and skill than you’ve got.  But that I can manage, I think; Guiseppi knows a man that we can get to come and mansage Dave every morning.  And I could sleep in the room next to him, and look after him during the night; but it’s some one to be with him in the day that I want most.”

Stevie had listened to Mehitabel’s story with a very thoughtful expression on his face; now he said suddenly, and very persuasively:  “I could take care of Dave through the day, Hitty—­I wish you’d let me.”

“You!” cried Miss Higginson, in surprise.  “Why, you wouldn’t be in that room five minutes before you two would be squabbling.”

“No, we wouldn’t; I’m sure we wouldn’t,” persisted the little boy.  “Just you try me.”

“But, Stevie, you’d get very tired being shut up in the room with that ill-tempered boy, all day long—­I know him of old—­he’d try the patience of a saint.  You’d have no gondola rides, no fun with your sisters, no play time at all, and no thanks for your pains either.  And I’m not sure your pa’d like to have you do it.”

“I don’t mind one bit about the fun and all that,” said Stevie, decidedly; “and indeed, Hitty, I don’t think papa’d object.  You see, he told me the last thing, if anything happened while he was away I was to act just as he would do if he were here; now, you know, if he were here he’d just take care of Dave, himself—­wouldn’t he?  Well, then, as he isn’t here, I ought to do it—­see?  And really I’d like to.”

“Why not let him try it anyhow, Hitty?” pleaded the little girls.  And as she really saw no other way out of the difficulty, Mehitabel reluctantly consented, with the proviso that she should sit with Dave for an hour every afternoon while Stevie went for a gondola sail.  Finally matters were arranged, and after a very short visit Mr. Joseph Lawrence started for Paris, leaving Dave in Venice, and the children went in to make their cousin’s acquaintance.