"I'll come and see you to-morrow," whispered Lydia, with a last warm hug. "I promise."

And with that bit of comfort, Lydia went home.

CHAPTER XII-Roger Comes Home

"Mother, how long was I away?" asked Lydia that night after supper.

The evenings grew cool now, and Mrs. Blake and Lydia were sitting indoors, while Mr. Blake walked up and down the gravel path, finishing his cigar. Lydia, on the window-seat, watched the red spark moving to and fro, while Mrs. Blake, with cheeks as pale as her soft white shawl, sat in the lamplight with a book on her lap.

"You were away a day and a night, weren't you?" she answered. "Why? Did it seem long to you?"

"It didn't seem long while I was there, but now it seems as if I'd been away a thousand years," was the reply. "Did you miss me, Mother?"

"Indeed I did," replied Mrs. Blake, with a shake of the head. "We all missed you, I'm sure."

"Yes," said Lydia, in a tone of satisfaction, "I asked everybody, and they all said they missed me. Father, and Alexander, and Deborah, and Friend Morris when I took her a bunch of flowers before supper, and the postman when I met him on the road. The postman said he thought I looked older, I'd been away so long. Do you, Mother?"

"No, I can't say that I do," said honest Mrs. Blake. "Perhaps he meant taller. You do grow like a weed."

"No, he said older," insisted Lydia, twirling the curtain cord as she spoke. "It must have been a joke. The postman is a very joking man, Mother. Anyway, I like to be missed. I like everybody to miss me every minute I'm away. I hope they miss me now at Robin Hill. Roger does, I'm sure. Perhaps he is crying for me this very minute." And Lydia's eyes grew pensive at the thought.

Mrs. Blake knew that Lydia was talking in the hope of putting off her bedtime. The little clock on the mantel had struck eight fully five minutes ago.

"Roger is probably sound asleep in bed this minute," she answered sensibly. "It is after eight o'clock, Lydia."

"Yes, I know," answered the little girl, without moving, "but I thought I might be going to stay up a little longer, because it's the first night I came home."

Mrs. Blake only smiled at this hint, and opened her book.

Lydia was able now to make ready for bed by herself. When she was in her nightgown, she would call her mother, and Mrs. Blake would go upstairs to braid Lydia's curls into two little pigtails, hear her evening prayers, and tuck her in bed with a good-night kiss. But this evening Lydia was putting off her bedtime as late as she could.

"I'll just go say good-night to Father, then," she murmured gently, slipping down from the window-seat. She meant to take at least five minutes doing this, but the telephone rang and spoiled her plan.

Mr. Blake answered it. "h.e.l.lo," said his voice from the hall. "Yes, Miss Martin. What's that? Roger? No, he isn't here. I'll come up and help you."

Mr. Blake stepped into the doorway, hat in hand.

"Miss Martin has telephoned that Roger has run away, and she thought he might possibly have found his way here. The rascal slipped out of bed, and they are pretty sure that he is not anywhere in the house. I'm going up to help her look for him. Perhaps I had better take Alexander with me, too," he added.

"Take me, Father, oh, take me!" cried Lydia, who had been listening with open eyes and ears. "I can find Roger, I know I can. Oh, take me with you!" And she rushed forward and clasped Mr. Blake about the knees.

"Take you, little magnet," said Mr. Blake, laughing; "I think Mother had better take you to bed." And he was gone, leaving Lydia so wide-awake she never wanted to go to bed again, she told her mother.

"You may wait until half-past eight," said indulgent Mrs. Blake, "if there is no news by that time you must go to bed. But after that, as soon as I hear anything, I will come and tell you, if you are awake."

Lydia stationed herself in the window to watch. It was not much fun staring out into the black night, but anything was better than going to bed. And any moment Father might come home with news of Roger. Oh, how she wished the little clock would stop or Mother would fall asleep. But nothing happened, and at half-past eight she started upstairs, dragging one foot slowly after the other.

Ten minutes later, Lydia was downstairs again in her nightgown, brush and comb in hand.

"I thought you would like to braid my hair down here to-night, Mother,"

said she, placing the cricket at Mrs. Blake's feet, and seating herself in view of the front door.

Mrs. Blake smiled at this new thoughtfulness. But she understood Lydia's feelings, and in her sympathy she brushed and braided as slowly as she could. She herself wished Mr. Blake would return with news of the missing child. There were too many horses and automobiles, even at night, to make the roads safe for a "Wee Willie Winkie" to

"Run through the town, Upstairs and downstairs, In his nightgown."

So they both were watching and listening when Mr. Blake's step sounded on the porch. Lydia twitched the braid from her mother's hands, and flew into the hall.

In came Mr. Blake with the runaway in his arms. He placed him in Mrs.

Blake's lap where, winking and blinking his dark eyes in the lamplight, in his dew-stained night-clothes, he lay looking about him like a little white bird. He wore his new red felt slippers, now covered with dust, and he carried in his hand a tiny horse given him by one of the children at Robin Hill. He smiled when he saw his friend Lydia kneeling at his feet, and waved his red slippers at her in greeting. It was plain to be seen that he was well pleased with his evening's work.

"I found him marching down the road halfway between here and Robin Hill," said Father, answering the question in Mrs. Blake's eyes.

"Alexander has gone on to tell Miss Martin. Well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?" he went on. "Running away seems to be your specialty. Do you mean to stay here with us for a while, or will you get me up in the middle of the night to bring you back from another trip down the road?" And Mr. Blake smiled down at the contented little figure cuddled in Mrs. Blake's lap.

"You won't run away again, will you, Roger?" asked Lydia coaxingly. "You want to stay here with me, don't you?"

Roger nodded solemnly.

"Yes," said he, "I'll stay with you. I'll stay with you forever."

And then he sneezed one, two, three times.

"Mercy me!" said Mother. "Off to bed, both of you."

And, bundled in the white shawl, the triumphant Roger was borne upstairs, Lydia hopping alongside, delighted with this unexpected turn of affairs.

"Roger is visiting us, Mother says," explained Lydia the next morning, as she and Roger paid an early morning call upon Friend Deborah in her spotless kitchen, "but Roger says he has come to stay."

The little boy, his eyes fixed upon a bowl of peaches, nodded.

"I like it here," he said gravely. "I like Lydia. I like my new mother and father. I like peaches, too."

"You mustn't say that!" cried Lydia, scandalized. "It isn't polite. You mustn't ask, ever."

"I didn't ask," returned Roger stoutly. "I only said I liked."

But Lydia sighed, as if she had all the cares of a large family upon her shoulders. Roger must be taught so many lessons in politeness, and his table manners needed constant attention.

"Just watch me, Roger," instructed Lydia. "Do just what I do."

But at last Roger tired of her corrections.

"You have more spots at your place than I have," he retorted between mouthfuls of mush. "And I didn't cry when I took my medicine, and you did. And I wasn't put to bed yesterday like you." And with a flourish of his spoon, Roger placidly finished his supper, while the crestfallen Lydia slipped away to console herself with Lucy Locket, who never "answered back."

"It is good for her, I suppose," said Mrs. Blake, who, with Mr. Blake, was an amused spectator of this scene. "I am afraid we were making her selfish. It isn't well for a child to grow up alone. And they love each other dearly. Roger follows Lydia about like her shadow."