And almost at the same moment Lanse's door opened and shut with a
bang.
"Here they come!" murmured Charlotte, trying distractedly to hush the
baby by means which were never known to have that effect upon a startled
infant in a strange house.
Her door swung open. Celia stood on the threshold, her eyes wide with
alarm. Lanse, lightly costumed in pink-and-white pajamas, gazed over her
shoulder.
"Charlotte Birch!" cried Celia, and words failed her. But Lanse was
ready of speech.
"What the dickens does this mean?" he inquired, wrathfully. "Have we
become an orphanage? I thought I heard singular sounds just after I got
to bed. Is there any good reason why the family shouldn't be informed of
what strange intentions you may have in your brain before you carry them
out? Whose youngster is it, and what are you doing with it here?"
Charlotte's lips were seen to move, but the baby's fright had received
such an accession from the appearance of two more unknown beings in the
room that nothing could be distinguished. What Charlotte said was,
"Please go away! I'll tell you in the morning.
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