Queenie was not a timid child. She did not shriek or rush screaming away; but she was a little afraid, for she could not imagine who could be hiding in the empty room, and she did not much think that her nurse was up-stairs.
But as she stood there quite still, wondering what she should do, a head was suddenly popped round the door, a smothered, laughing voice cried, “Queenie!” in a sort of whisper, and the head was instantly withdrawn. Queenie uttered a little shriek of ecstasy, and made a dash at the door.
“Phil!” she cried, with breathless eagerness.
The closed door opened suddenly, she was pulled in with unceremonious haste, and the door was closed and bolted behind them in a moment of time.
Queenie was so bewildered by this mysterious appearance of her favorite brother, that she was absolutely tongue-tied. She could only gasp out,—
“Phil!”
And the curly-headed lad, his eyes full of laughter and his face brimming over with fun, caught his little sister round the waist, and executed the wildest of war-dances without speaking a single word.
At last, when both were fairly exhausted, he flung himself upon his bed and burst into a fit of tumultuous yet noiseless laughter.
Queenie’s eyes were quite round with astonishment. She was too much perplexed and surprised to join in her brother’s mirth.
“Phil,” she said at last, in her little imperious way, “do tell me what it is. I don’t understand. Why have you come home now?”