"Home. Mr. Marshall, won't you fix Daddy's note if he gives you me?"
"Huh!" ejaculated Marshall.
"You said last fall," the child went on, her voice quavering but her eyes resolute, "that if Daddy ever wanted to sell me, you'd buy me. I think I ought to be worth a thousand dollars. I can do so much work around the house and help you train Margery! I can work hard. You ask John Levine."
Marshall's fat face was purple and then pale.
"Does your father know you're here, Lydia?" he asked.
She clasped her mittened hands in sudden agitation.
"Nobody knows but you," she exclaimed. "Oh! you mustn't tell the man out there my name. I'm in quarantine and I'd be arrested, if the health office knew!"
"I won't tell," said Dave, gently. "Come over here by me, Lydia.
Margery is away on a visit so I'm not afraid for her."
Lydia crossed the room. Marshall took the skates from her shoulders and unfastened her coat.
"Sit down on that chair and let's talk this over. You know what a note is, do you, Lydia?"