“She slep’ pretty well, I guess; better’n I did when I sprained my ankle twenty years ago come Christmas.  I never closed my eyes, even in a cat nap, and she did.  I crep’ to her door twice to see how she was gettin’ on, and she was—­not exactly snorin’—­I don’t s’pose she ever does snore,—­but breathin’ reg’lar like, jess like a baby, which I didn’t do in a week when I sprained my ankle.”

She would have added “twenty years ago come Christmas,” if Jack had not forestalled her by asking Eloise if her ankle pained her much.

“Yes,” she said, while Mrs. Biggs chimed in, “Can’t help painin’ her, swelled as ’tis,—­big as two ankles; look.”

She whisked off the bottom of her dress which Eloise had put over her foot, and disclosed the shapeless bundle encased in the old felt slipper.

“Look for yourselves; see if you think it aches,” she said.

This was too much for Eloise, who, regardless of pain, drew her foot up under the skirt of her dress, while her face grew scarlet.  Both Howard and Jack were sorry for her, and at last got the conversation into another channel by saying they had brought her satchel and hat, which they feared were ruined, and asking if she had seen the hat Miss Amy had sent her.

“Land sakes, no!  I told her about it, but I hain’t had time to show it to her,” Mrs. Biggs exclaimed, starting from the room, while Howard explained that his cousin had tried in vain to renovate the drenched hat, and, finding it impossible, had sent one of her own which she wished Miss Smith to accept with her compliments.

“How do you like it?” Mrs. Biggs asked, as she came in with it.

It was a fine leghorn, with a wreath of lilacs round the crown, and Eloise knew that it was far more expensive than anything she had ever worn.

“It is very pretty,” she said, “and very kind in the lady to send it.  Tell her I thank her.  What is her name?”

Jack looked at Howard, who replied, “She has had a good many, none of which pleased my uncle, the last one least of all; so he calls her Miss Amy, and wishes others to do so.”

Eloise was puzzled, but the sight of Mrs. Biggs tugging at her wet satchel to open it diverted her mind.

“Your things is sp’ilt, most likely, but you’d better have ’em out.  For the mercy’s sake, look!” she said, passing the satchel to Eloise, who was beyond caring:  for what was spoiled and what was not.  “There’s somebody knockin’.  It’s Mr. Bills, most likely, the committee man, come to see you; I told Tim to notify him,” Mrs. Biggs exclaimed, hurrying out, and saying to Howard as she passed him, “You can visit a spell before I fetch him in.  She needs perkin’ up, poor thing.”

It proved to be a grocer’s boy instead of Mr. Bills, and Mrs. Biggs came back just as Howard was presenting the slippers.

“I did not think they were just what you wanted,” Howard explained, as he saw the look of surprise on Eloise’s face.  “Miss Amy is not always quite clear in her mind, but rather resolute when it is made up; and when we told her we had to cut off your boot, she insisted upon sending these.”