had the cuffing, slunk up the stairs. Piers and Pheasant, still on the window-seat, had drawn the curtains tightly across, so that they were effectually concealed, except for the outline of their knees, and their feet which projected under the edge. Finch, after a glance at the feet, was reasonably sure of their owners. What a lot of fun every one had, but himself! Snug and dry before warm fires, or petting in corners.
He found Wakefield in his room, sprawled on the bed, reading Huckleberry Finn.
"Hullo," said the little boy politely. "I hope you don't mind me being here. I wanted to lie down a bit as I aren't very well, and yours is the only bed I can tumble up without Meggie minding."
"Why don't you tell her you're not well?" asked Finch, pulling off his soaked jacket.
"Oh, she'd fuss over me, keep me on the sofa where she could watch me. I like a little privacy as well as any one."
He was eating marshmallows and he offered Finch one.
"Thanks," said Finch, who was ravenous. "You seem always to have marshmallows lately." He looked at him with sudden severity. "Does Meggie know you've always got them?"
Wake calmly bit into another. "Oh, I don't suppose so. Any more than she knows you've always got cigarettes about you." His eyes were on his book; one cheek was distended. He looked innocent, and yet, the little devil, it had sounded like a threat.
"You mind your own affairs," broke out Finch, "or I'll chuck you into the hall."
Wakefield's bright eyes were on him. "Don't be cross, Finch. I was only thinking how yellow your second finger looked when you took that marshmallow. You'd better scrub it with pumice-stone before tea or
