“Certainly not! You’ve got to hear it now. Move further on—I’m coming into bed with you. That’s better!”
“But I’m so sleepy,”—rather crossly.
“Don’t be horrid! You might wake up for once, and listen!”
“I am listening.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, then. I said to myself when 192 I began to think: ‘What’s wanted is a home for old Wilkinson!’ and just now it suddenly flashed into my head: ‘We’ll make him one for ourselves!’”
“Where?”
“That’s the point. The Bumble says she can’t have him at the Grange—Hermie suggested that—and every place one knows of seems to belong to somebody who wants it—all except the island!”
“What island? The one on the river?”
“No, no! Not so far as that. The island on our moat, I mean. We’ll build a little house for him, and he can have it all for his very own.”
“Wouldn’t it—wouldn’t it be rather difficult to build?” gasped Aveline, dazed at the magnitude of her chum’s idea.