II

Itwasaweeklater.Philipwassittingonthefloorinthedrawing-roomatMissWatkin’shouseinOnslowgardens.Hewasanonlychildandusedtoamusinghimself.Theroomwasfilledwithmassivefurniture,andoneachofthesofaswerethreebigcushions.Therewasacushiontooineacharm-chair.Allthesehehadtakenand,withthehelpofthegiltroutchairs,lightandeasytomove,hadmadeanelaboratecaveinwhichhecouldhidehimselffromtheRedIndianswhowerelurkingbehindthecurtains.Heputhiseartothefloorandlistenedtotheherdofbuffaloesthatracedacrosstheprairie.Presently,hearingthedooropen,heheldhisbreathsothathemightnotbediscoveredbutaviolenthandpulledawayachairandthecushionsfelldown. “Younaughtyboy,MissWatkinWILLbecrosswithyou.” “Hulloa,Emma!”hesaid. Thenursebentdownandkissedhim,thenbegantoshakeoutthecushions,andputthembackintheirplaces. “AmItocomehome?”