Dulcie cried softly into the pillow for a few minutes, while Daisy soothed and comforted her as best she could, both of them still mindful of their sleeping sisters in the other bed, for, as in the city, the four little girls shared the same room. Then Dulcie pulled herself together again, and began to talk.

“I’ve been thinking of it for hours and hours,” she whispered, “and I’ve made up my mind we’ve got to do something.”

Daisy gasped.

“There isn’t anything we can do,” she protested. “We’ve just got to make the best of it. I’ve been praying a lot, Dulcie dear, and I think perhaps God won’t let the stepmother be so very dreadful, after all. There may be some nice stepmothers, you know, even if we’ve never heard of them.”

“But there is something we can do,” said Dulcie, not without a touch of pride in her tone. “I’ve thought of it. You see, it isn’t as if we were all little as we were when Mamma died. Then, of course, we couldn’t do anything for ourselves, and Papa had to bring us to Grandma, but now you and I are old enough to earn our living, and even Molly could work—wash dishes, you know, and shell peas, and little things like that. Between the three of us we ought to be able to earn enough to take care of Maud.”

“Earn our own living!” repeated Daisy, incredulously. “Why, Dulcie, how could we? Papa wouldn’t let us, or Grandma either. Grandma would say we had disgraced the family, the same as she did when that cousin of hers went away to be an actress.”

Dulcie sniffed scornfully.

“We can’t help what Grandma says,” she said. “Papa won’t think we are a disgrace to the family. Besides, it will all have to happen before he gets home. He may not like it just at first, but I don’t believe he’ll really mind much, because, of course, it will make the stepmother happy not to have any burdens.”

“But—but,” faltered Daisy, “Papa is coming home to-morrow. How can it possibly happen before that?”

“Because it’s got to,” said Dulcie, firmly. “I’ve thought it all out, lying here, and it’s really quite a wonderful plan. Now listen, and don’t interrupt till I get through. We won’t tell the others anything till morning, but we’ll have to get up very early, so as to be away before anybody else is awake. We’ll dress very quietly, and just slip out of the house without anybody’s knowing a thing about it. There’s an old leather bag in the storeroom that I don’t believe Grandma would mind our taking, and we can put a few things in it—just necessary things, you know, like combs and tooth-brushes, and a set of clean clothes for each of us. We’ll walk to the station, and take the first train going up the river. Isn’t it wonderful that Uncle Stephen should have sent us that five dollars for the Fourth of July? I thought we could keep it to buy real birthday presents for Molly and Maud, but we’ll have to spend it this way. We’ll buy four tickets for Peak’s Point. It’s twenty miles off, and nobody knows us there. Papa took me there once on the boat, and I remember it was quite a big place, and there were some lovely houses. We’ll stop at the first house we like the looks of, and ring the door-bell and ask for work. Of course they may not want us at the first one, but we’ll keep right on asking till we find some one who wants some little girls to help with the housework. People often do take little girls, you know. You remember the girl who used to take the Van Arsdale baby out; I’m sure she wasn’t much older than I am. We won’t give our real names; people in books never give their real names when they run away from home. Don’t you think it’s a wonderful plan?”