“But we all hate Anna,” said Betty with slow, deliberate emphasis; “and we shall hate her more if she is here always, wanting to play with us, and go about with us, and—­and—­”

“Betty, those remarks are unworthy of you,” said her father gravely.

“But they are quite true, daddy,” said Tony solemnly, “and we’ve got to speak the truth and shame the devil.  Jabez told us so.”

Dr. Trenire did not feel able or inclined to argue the point then.  Betty drew nearer to him and leaned against his shoulder.  “Daddy,” she said in her grave, confiding way, “you won’t like it either, a bit.  When Anna was here before you often used to say, ‘Oh, that child!’ and you looked quite glad, as glad as we did, when she went away.  I am sure you will be sorry if she comes, nearly as sorry as we shall be, only you will be able to go your rounds and get away from them every day; but we,” pathetically, “can’t do that.”

Again Dr. Trenire was silent.  He sometimes wished his younger daughter’s memory was less acute, and her love of reasoning less strong.  No one spoke, and until some one did, remarks would go on dropping from Betty’s lips.  It was a way she had.  She had never been known to cease talking without being forcibly made to do so.  “It does seem dreadful,” she went on thoughtfully, “that just because Jabez got his head hit we must have Aunt Pike and Anna here for ever and ever, and be made very unhappy.  I am sure Jabez would rather have us punished in some other way.  Shall I ask him what he would like done to us instead?” she finished up eagerly.

“I don’t want to punish you,” said Dr. Trenire.  “Don’t run away with the idea, children, that I am doing it for that purpose.  It is that I think it will be the best plan for all of us—­for our comfort and happiness, and your future good.  I can’t have you all growing up like savages, untrained, uneducated, uncared for.  What would you all say to me when you grew up?” looking round at them with a smile.

“I would say, ‘Thank you,’” said Betty gravely.

“I’d rather be a savage than anything,” said Tony eagerly.

Kitty and Dan were silent.  Dan was old enough to realize something of what his father meant; Kitty was altogether too upset to answer.  She was thinking that it was she who had brought all this on them; that she might have saved them from it.  The others blamed Jabez and his tale-bearing; but Kitty in her heart of hearts felt that Jabez with his cut forehead and his tale of woe was but a last link in the long chain which she had forged—­a chain which was to grapple to them Aunt Pike and the unwelcome Anna.  At the same time the injury to Jabez was a last link, without which the chain might never have been completed.

It was completed though, for that their father’s mind was made up, his decision final, they recognized only too clearly, and the glorious summer day turned suddenly to blackest, dreariest night for all of them.