come. Brownie's got that lumber-room crammed with stuff, and a lot of hard work's got to be done by somebody or other before you boys can sleep there. And you'll have to, to-night, just look at the sky. Suppose we heap up the dixies and everything into the new hut, and go straight to the Cottage and turn to." 

 In a very few minutes they had started acting on her suggestions. The rain was coming down now in large steady drops, and there was certainly every likelihood of a drenching night. The boys were not afraid of rain; they would have preferred to test the new hut's weather-proof properties by sleeping there through any weather, but they had given their word, and that was the end of the matter. The dixies were put away safely into the little hut, and the three set off in fairly good spirits for Island Cottage. After all, they had had a week's camping out already, and probably there were many more days and nights of it ahead for them; they would take one night's rest under a roof with as good a grace as they knew how. 

 But an afternoon's good hard work lay between them and any possibility of a good night. The upstairs attic was a perfect chaos of muddled lumber; "and has been, my dears, since we came here," said Brownie, "fifteen years ago, as I remember well." 

 "Who lived here before you, Brownie?" asked Robin.  "It was a year before I was born, you see, so I don't remember." 

 "Sure, my dear, don't I remember that. 'Twas—well, 'twas young Hooker, gamekeeper he was, in your grandfather's days, but youngish for the job. I can see him now, a fine upstanding chap he was."  The old dame heaved a sigh. 

 "Young, was he? Why did he leave then? Where is he now?" inquired Peter standing still for a minute with an armful of boxes. 

 "Sure, I can't tell you.  'Twas dismissed that he was. Into disgrace he fell, at the time of all the trouble," said Brownie.  "Same age as Master——" she bustled away, muttering to herself. 

 "Same age as who, Brownie?" inquired quick-eared Jan, who, armed with a duster and a mop, looked quite as busy as she really was. 

 But the old woman did not appear to hear the question; she made for the door.  "You'll be wanting your teas after all the help that you're giving, my dears, and the kettle's not on," she announced, and disappeared down the creaking stair. 

 "There's certainly a mystery. A—choo!"  Peter's voice began on an 

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