The Doctor swooped suddenly down on a shadowy object, which lay prone under an arbutus shrub. “My dear little Firefly, what is the matter? You ought to be in bed ages ago—out here in the damp and cold, and such deep-drawn sobs! What has nurse been about? This is really extremely careless.”
“It wasn’t nurse’s fault,” sobbed Firefly, nestling her head into her father’s cheek. “I ran away from her. I hided from her on purpose.”
“Then you were the naughty one. What is the matter, dear? Why do you make things worse for me and for us all just now?”
Firefly’s head sank still lower. Her hot little cheek pressed her father’s with an acute longing for sympathy. Instinct told him of the child’s need. He walked down the avenue, holding her closely.
“Wasn’t you going the other way, father?” asked Firefly, squeezing her arms tight around his neck.
“No matter, I must see you home first. Now what were those sobs about? And why did you hide yourself from nurse?”
“’Cause I wanted to be down-stairs, to listen to the grown-ups.”
“The grown-ups? My dear, who are they?”
“Oh, Nell, and Poll Parrot, and Katie; I don’t mind about Nell and Polly, but it isn’t fair that Katie should be made a grown-up—and she is—she is, really, father. She is down in the school-room so important, and just like a regular grown-up, so I couldn’t stand it.”
“I see. You wanted to be a grown-up too—you are seven years old, are you not?”