“Well—I shall go to bed,” said Dick. “I heard Elbur arriving last night, Aunt Fanny, and it was pretty late, wasn’t it? I can hardly keep my eyes open tonight.”

“Come on, then — let’s all go up,” said Julian. “We can read if we can’t sleep. Good night, Aunt Fanny. Thank you for a lovely picnic basket again!”

All the four went upstairs, Anne and Dick yawning loudly, and setting the others off too. Timmy padded behind them, quite glad that George was going to bed so early.

They were all asleep in ten minutes. The boys slept like logs and didn’t stir at all. The girls fell fast asleep for about four hours — and then George was awakened by hearing Timmy growl. She sat up at once.

“What is it?” she said. “Oh — is it Berta arriving, Tim? Let’s keep quiet and see what she’s like!”

After a minute Timmy growled again. George heard the sound of quiet footsteps on the stairs. Then the bedroom door was slid softly open, and two people stood in the light of the landing lamp. One was Aunt Fanny.

The other, of course, was Berta.

Chapter Four

Berta

George sat up in bed and stared at Berta. She looked very peculiar indeed. For one thing she was so bundled up in coats and wraps that it was difficult to see if she was fat or thin, tall or short, and for another thing she was crying so bitterly that her face was all screwed up.

Anne didn’t wake up. Timmy was so astonished that, like George, he simply sat and stared.

“Tell Timmy not to make a sound,” whispered George’s mother, afraid that the dog might bark the house down, once he began.

George laid a warning hand on Timmy. Her mother gave Berta a little push further into the room.

“She’s been terribly seasick, poor child,” she told George. “And she’s scared and upset. I want her to get into bed as soon as possible.”

Berta was still sobbing, but the sobs grew quieter as she began to feel less sick. George’s mother was so kind and sensible that she felt comforted.

“Let’s take these things off,” she said to Berta. “My word, you are bundled up! But if you came in an open motor-boat I expect you needed them.”

“What am I to call you?” asked Berta, with one last sniff.

“You’d better call me Aunt Fanny, as the others do, I think,” said George’s mother. “I expect you know why you’ve come to stay with us for a while, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Berta. “I didn’t want to come. I wanted to stay with my father. I’m not afraid of being kidnapped. I’ve got Sally to look after me.”

“Who’s Sally, dear?” asked Aunt Fanny, taking a coat or two off Berta.

“My dog,” said Berta. “She’s downstairs in the basket I was carrying.”

George pricked up her ears at that bit of news! “A dog!” she said. “We can’t have a dog here. Mine would never allow that. Would you, Timmy?”