“But, mother,” argued Susie, “I couldn’t guess he was going to be so naughty, could I?”

“You didn’t try to guess,” said Tom resentfully; “and now you are trying to make mother think you are better than me.  You wouldn’t hem our sails or dig with us.  We had to do something.”

“And now you want me to quarrel,” said Susie.—­“Mother, I want to explain.”

“Hush, Susie! there is no time to explain now; you must tell me by-and-by.”

Susie flung the towel on to the floor, and felt a great lump in her throat.  Dick had to be dried and warmed, in order to stop that horrid little croaking cough; and no one cared for her excuses or explanations.

With angry tears blinding her she ran across to the nursery, and stood looking out at the silver line of sea and the bobbing ships.  Alick was stretching in his cradle, and it creaked under his weight.  She could see his curly head and his outstretched fat legs.  He was so accustomed to having his legs admired that he always pulled up his petticoats solemnly to exhibit them, as though pathetically hoping to get it over and have done with it.

Susie’s ill-temper evaporated like smoke.  She flung herself beside the cradle, and hugged Alick in her arms, leaning so closely over him that nurse, in hurrying to and fro, paused to expostulate.

“Not so close, Miss Susie, please—­the child can’t breathe; and I don’t want you putting any of your naughtiness into his head.”

“How can I, when he can’t walk?” said Susie indignantly.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it beyond you,” said nurse.  “I know you’ve been up to something, or you wouldn’t be here now, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.”

“I’m trying to be good,” said Susie, still indignant.

“Well, we shan’t see the result yet awhile,” said nurse, “for the way you’ve devil-oped these holidays is past imagining.”

She always pronounced it in that way, and the word held a dreary significance for Susie.

CHAPTER IV.

That horrid, teasing cough of Dick’s got worse and worse, and by evening he was lying patiently in his crib, with a steaming kettle singing into the little tent of blankets that enveloped it, and a very large and very hot linseed poultice on his chest.  Susie, sitting down below, could hear the hasty footsteps and the hoarse, croaking sound that always filled her with panic.  Their tea was brought to them by the overworked maid, and she and Tom ate it in a depressed silence, and then sat again on the window-sill looking silently and miserably out to sea.  By-and-by nurse came in hurriedly, with the news that baby was crying and had to be attended to, and that she and Tom must manage to put themselves to bed.

“I haven’t time to brush your hair,” nurse said regretfully; and Susie’s face lightened.

“Nurse, is Dick better?” she asked breathlessly.