There was a delicious pause, then the Doctor said, quietly:

"In short, Maria, you have never come across such absolutely wicked children as the Maybrights and Dalrymples?"

"No, Andrew--never! never!"

"It is lucky they are not your children?"

"Thank Heaven!"

"Would it not be well to leave them to me? I am accustomed to them."

"Yes; I wash my hands of you all; or no--not quite of you all--I heap coals of fire on your head, Andrew; I offer to relieve you of the charge of Daisy Rymple."

"Of Flower?--but she is one of the worst of us."

Here Flower ran over, crouched down by the Doctor, and put one of her hands into his.

"But I will be good with you," she said with a half-sob.

"Hear her," said the Doctor. "She says she will be good with me.

Perhaps, after all, Maria, I _can_ manage my own children better than any one else can."

"Daisy is not your child--you had better give her to me."

"I can't part with Flower; she is an excellent reader. I am a blind man, but she scarcely allows me to miss my eyes."

Flower gave a low ecstatic sob.

"And you will allow her to part with valuable gems like this?"

"Thanks to you, Maria, she has recovered her diamond."

"Andrew, I never met such an obstinate, such a misguided man! Are you really going to bring up these unfortunate children without a chaperon?"

"I think you must allow us to be good _and_ naughty in our own way."

"Father is looking very tired, Aunt Maria," here whispered Polly.

"My dear, _I_ am never going to fatigue him more. Andrew, I wash my hands of your affairs. Daisy, take your diamond. At least, my little precious dog, I have recovered _you_. We return to Bath by the next train."

CHAPTER XIX.

ONE YEAR AFTER.

"Helen, here's a letter."

"Yes. Who is it for?"

"I think it's for us all. See: 'the Misses Maybright and Miss Dalrymple.'"

"Well, where's Flower? We can't open it till Flower comes down. It must be--yes, it must be about father! You know it was yesterday his eyes were to be operated on."

"As if I didn't know it, Nell! I never closed my eyes last night. I felt nearly as bad as that awful day a year ago now. I wish I might tear open this envelope. Where is Flower? Need we wait for her?"

"It would be unkind not to wait! No one feels about father as Flower does."

"David, please call her this instant!"

David flew out of the room, and Polly began to finger the precious letter.

"It's thick," she said; "but I don't think there's much writing inside.

Yes," she continued, "Flower is certainly very sensitive about father.

She's a dear girl. All the same, I'm sometimes jealous of her."

"Oh, dear Polly! why?"

"Father thinks so much of her. Yes, I know it's wrong, but I do feel a little sore now and then. Not often though, and never when I look into Flower's lovely eyes."

"She is very sweet with father," said Helen. "It seems to me that during this past year she has given up her very life to him. And did you ever hear any one read better?"

"No, that's one of the reasons why I'm devoured with jealousy. Don't talk to me about it, it's an enemy I haven't yet learnt to overcome. Ah!

here she comes."

"_And_ Fly, _and_ the twins!" echoed Helen. "Here's a letter from father, Flower. At least, we think so. It's directed to us and to you."

A tall, very fair girl, with soft, shining eyes, and a wonderful mane of yellow hair came up and put her arm round Polly's neck. She did not smile, her face was grave, her voice shook a little.

"Open the letter, Helen," she exclaimed impatiently.

"Don't tremble so, Flower," said Polly.

But she herself only remained quiet by a great effort, as Helen unfastened the thick envelope, opened the sheet of paper, and held it up for many eager pairs of eyes to read:

"My Children:--I see again, thank G.o.d.

"Your Father and loving Friend."

"There!" said Polly. "Oh, I can't talk about it. Flower, you are silly to cry. Will no one dance a hornpipe with me? I'll choke if I don't laugh. You're the one to dance, Fly. Why, you are crying, too.

Ridiculous! Where's the letter? Let's kiss it all round. That'll make us better. His own blessed writing! Isn't he a darling? Was there ever such a father?"

"Or such a friend?" exclaimed Flower. "I said long ago, and I say again now, that he's the best man in the world, and I do really think that some day he'll turn me into a good girl."

"Why, you're the nicest girl I know now," said Polly.

And then they kissed each other.