Daffy made no answer. She thought a great deal more than Freda did, and some of her thoughts were serious.
"We'll try and take a stranger in as soon as ever we can," said Daffy. "It will be most exciting! We'll smuggle him in by one of the windows downstairs, or else Nurse will make a row."
"It might be a 'her,'" said Freda; "we don't know who it will be yet."
"It must be somebody who wants a night's lodging—some poor beggar. We see some going along the roads when we are out."
"I wonder if Dreamikins will find somebody before we do. She has no horrid nurse keeping her from doing things she wants."
"A H.D.," said Daffy, with twinkling eyes. "We'll call her H.D. to ourselves, Freda; she'll never know."
They began to wonder when they would see Dreamikins again. Their days seemed dull without her, but Nurse determined that they should not meet too often. She was distrustful of Dreamikins; there was something in her joyous face and free easy manner that touched on insubordination. And then something happened that put Dreamikins out of her head. A letter came one morning from Mrs. Harrington, and it brought sad news. The children's father had been killed by a Turkish shell in Mesopotamia.
When Nurse broke the news to the children, her voice shook. Freda and Daffy would not believe it.
"Dad killed, Nurse! Oh, he can't be! It's a mistake. He can't possibly be dead!"
"What does Mums say?"