“Good gracious, Patty!”

“Yes, I know,—­it’s all of that!  Now, Nan, I mustn’t keep this telephone, for they all want to use it.  But I’ll call you up to-night or to-morrow, for a longer talk.  I wish you’d send me up some clothes.  Pack a suitcase or a steamer trunk with some little house-dresses and tea-gowns and lingerie, and send it along to-morrow.  Then I’ll tell you later what else I want.  Tell father all about it, and ask him to call me up this evening.  Good-bye for now.”

Patty hung up the receiver, and Marie took her turn next.

“How did your people take it?” asked Cameron, as Patty came slowly back to the hall fireside, where they had all been sitting when the dreadful news was told.

“I told my mother,” said Patty, “but I didn’t give her a chance to say much.  She was appalled, of course, at the whole business, but she’s going to send me some clothes, and get along without me for a few weeks,—­although I can’t help feeling ’they will miss me at home, they will miss me.’”

Patty sang the line in a high falsetto that made them all laugh.

“Mother’s about crazy!” announced Marie, as she came back from telephoning.  “Not that she minds my staying here, but she’s sure I’ll have the diphtheria!”

“No, you won’t, Marie,” said Kit, earnestly.  “I asked the doctor particularly, and he said there wasn’t the least danger that any of us would develop the disease.”

“Then why do we have to stay here?” asked Marie.

“Because the house is quarantined.  By order of the Board of Health.  You may as well make up your mind to it, cousin, and take it philosophically, as Miss Fairfield does.”

Kenneth telephoned to his office, and then Kit shut himself up in the library and telephoned for a long time.

When he returned, he said, with an evident effort at cheerfulness, “Now let’s pretend that we’re not kept here against our will, but that this is a jolly house party.  If we were here for a month, on invitation, we’d expect to have a bang-up time.”

“But this is so different,” said Patty, dolefully.  “A house party would mean all kinds of gaiety and fun.  But it doesn’t seem right to be gay, when Babette is dangerously ill.”

“But she isn’t dangerously ill,” said Kit, earnestly.  “It may prove a very light case.  But you see the quarantine laws are just as strict for a very light case as for a desperate one.  Now, I propose that we try to forget Babette for the present, and go in for a good time.”

“But we can’t do anything,” said Marie; “we can’t go to places or have any company, or see anybody or write any letters—­”

“There, there, little girl,” said her cousin, “don’t make matters worse by complaining.  Here are four most attractive young people, in a perfectly lovely house, with all the comforts of home; and if we don’t have a good time, it’s our own fault.  What shall we do this afternoon?”