“They’re bookcase curtains,” she explained.  “I slipped the rings off the pole.  See, we can each have one.”

“Good!” said Patty, draping the curtain round her shoulders, sontag fashion.  “These are fine.  Now, see, I’m getting your dress quite fluffy again.”

“So you are.  I’ll finish it, and you do your own.  Aren’t you going to bed, Patty?”

“No, not exactly.  Suppose we sleep here.  You take the couch, and I’ll doze in this big armchair.”

“Are you—­are you frightened, Patty?”

“N—­no; no!  Of course I’m not!  What’s there to be afraid of?”

“Well—­I am,” and Daisy began to whimper, and then to cry.

“Daisy Dow!  You stop that!  I’d be all right if you’d behave yourself!  Now, don’t you get hysterical!  If you do, I’ll—­I’ll telephone for the doctor!  Oh, Daisy! the telephone!  Why didn’t we think of that before?  There must be one!  Let’s hunt for it.”

Spurred by this new thought, Patty ran through the rooms in search of a telephone.  She found one in the back part of the hall, but, alas, it had been disconnected and was useless.

“Bill must have found that out,” Patty said, thoughtfully; “and he didn’t tell us.”

“Why not?” demanded Daisy.  “Why wouldn’t he tell us?”

“Because he’s so thoughtful and considerate.  I feel sure he thought it would make us feel more lonely if we knew the telephone was there, but wouldn’t work.”

“Well, it does!” declared Daisy.  “I’m so lonely and frightened and miserable, I believe I’ll die!”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” said Patty, cheerfully.  “Now, I’ll tell you what, Daisy.  You lie down on the couch,—­here’s a nice afghan to put over you,—­and I’ll sing a little.”

This sounded comfortable, so Daisy, now quite warm and dry, lay down, and after tucking the afghan over her, Patty went to the piano.  She played a few soft chords, and then sang, softly, a crooning lullaby.  It is not surprising that under the influence of the soothing music, the warm fire, and her own fatigue, Daisy soon fell sound asleep.

Assured of this, Patty left the piano, and sat in the big easy-chair in front of the fire.  She thought over their escapade, and though it was certainly serious enough, she smiled to herself as she thought of the humorous side of it.  It certainly seemed funny for Daisy and herself to be alone in a big, handsome, strange house,—­wrapped in other people’s bookcase curtains!  Then she thought of Big Bill and Jack trudging miles and miles through the storm.  What a splendid fellow Bill Farnsworth was, anyhow!  He had left no room for argument or even discussion; he had decided there was but one way out of this situation, and he took it.  Jack had acquiesced, and had done as he was told, but Bill had been the moving spirit.  What good sense he had shown!  And with what forgetfulness of self he had accepted his own hard part of the performance.