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The children were idly lolling about. She turned, and spoke almost crossly.59

"Don't you know, Aggie, that it is long past the younger children's hour for staying up? Can't you make yourself useful for once, and go up and put them to bed?"

"Can't you come, Effie Serviced apartment hkwe'd much rather have you," said little Phil and Walter, the brother next in age. "Agnes is so cross, she pulls our hair so when she combs it out."

"I don't, you bad boys!" exclaimed Agnes, coloring high. "Won't I give it to you next time we are alone for saying that!"

"She does, Effie; she does indeed," said little Phil, running up to his elder sister, and clasping his arms round her light blue dress.

"Don't, Phil; you will spoil my pretty frock!" she cried.

"Why, you are cross too," he answered, looking up at her. He was so startled and amazed at this new tone in Effie's voice, that words failed him altogether for a minute. It seemed to him as if a castle of cards had tumbled all over his head, and as if he stood in the middle of the ruins. If Effie were going to turn nasty, according to Phil's idea, there was nothing further to be looked for in life. Walter, however, who was older, had more discernment than his little brother.

"Effie has a headache," he said; "can't you see that she has a headache? We'll be very good indeed, Effie, if Agnes will put us to bed."

"Come along, then," said Agnes,  in front of her. "You must be quick about it, for I have not half prepared my to-morrow's lessons. Now then, out you go."

The children disappeared.

The room was once more empty, except for the silent figure who stood in the window. She could60 catch a glimpse of her father and mother walking up and down in the garden. Presently the two approached the house. Mrs. Staunton went straight upstairs to her room, and the doctor returned to the parlor.

"Your mother is very tired to-night, Effie," he said in a grave voice.

He sat down in the armchair just where he could smell the sweet-peas and the Banksia roses.

"Yes," he continued, "I am anxious about her." There was not a trace now of any of the jollity which had marked him at supper. His face was gray and worn—his voice decidedly husky. That huskiness in her father's voice went like a stab to Effie's heart. She shut the door and went and stood by his side.

"Don't you think you had better go upstairs and help your mother to get to bed?"