She heard her father drive into the yard, heralded by Caesar’s deep bark.  Caesar had gone with the doctor on his day’s round.  Patricia knew how he was running about now, looking for her.  She hoped Sarah would forget and leave the screen door open.  Caesar would be sure to come upstairs then.  She rather thought Daddy would delay his coming until after supper.

Sarah was taking in supper now; she could hear the dishes rattling.  She was very hungry; that hasty raid on the pantry had not been very satisfactory.  If Custard had felt that way she didn’t much blame him for eating up Miss Susan’s custard.  Probably no one had ever taught him that it was wrong to take what didn’t belong to him.

There!  Sarah was bringing up her supper now!

Patricia sat up in bed; even bread and milk appeared highly desirable at that moment.

But there was more than bread and milk on the tray Sarah carried.  Patricia stared at the generous square of strawberry shortcake, plentifully supplied with cream, in wondering silence.

Sarah brought a small table to the side of the bed.  “Miss Julia, she done send some message ’bout this ’ere cake, Miss P’tricia; but, law o’ mercy, I’se clean forgot the most ’portant word.  Hit were something ’bout you-uns having had a fat-fat-”

“Fatiguing day?” Patricia suggested, taking little anticipatory pickings at the corners of the shortcake.

Sarah nodded her turbaned head.  “Where’s you-un been all day, Miss P’tricia?” she enquired, severely.

“If you don’t mind, Sarah—­I’m very hungry and tired—­I won’t go into that at present.  I had something very important to see to.”

“Humph!” Sarah grunted.  “Nice doings, worrying your pore aunt near to ’straction—­the doctor, he ain’t come home to dinner—­to hear ’bout your carryings-on.  What you think he’s goin’ say—­when Miss Julia tells him?”

Patricia was absorbed in eating bread and milk.  “It must be dreadful to be really starved, Sarah,” she observed.

“Where you get your dinner, Miss P’tricia?”

“I didn’t have any,” Patricia answered.

“My sakes!” Further speech failed Sarah.  She turned away.

Patricia’s next visitor was old Caesar.  Standing by the bed, he asked as plainly as dog may what in the world she was doing there at that time of day?  He accepted solemnly his share of the good things going, then stretched himself out on the floor beside the bed, to mount guard—­but not until he had told her as forcibly as he could that the summer evening was unusually fine, and that there were several little affairs in the garden requiring their joint supervision.

“But I can’t go, Caesar,” Patricia told him.  She was always sure that her dumb friends understood quite well all she said to them.  “There comes Daddy now.”

“It doesn’t seem to be solitary confinement, Patricia,” Dr. Kirby said, as he came in and seated himself on the side of the bed.