everybody shivered. They all went up to the door of Mother's room
and knocked.

"Well, what is it?" asked Mother from inside.

"Mother," said Bobbie, "mayn't I light a fire? I do know how."

And Mother said: "No, my ducky-love. We mustn't have fires in
June--coal is so dear. If you're cold, go and have a good romp in
the attic. That'll warm you."

"But, Mother, it only takes such a very little coal to make a fire."

"It's more than we can afford, chickeny-love," said Mother,
cheerfully. "Now run away, there's darlings--I'm madly busy!"

"Mother's always busy now," said Phyllis, in a whisper to Peter.
Peter did not answer. He shrugged his shoulders. He was thinking.

Thought, however, could not long keep itself from the suitable
furnishing of a bandit's lair in the attic. Peter was the bandit,
of course. Bobbie was his lieutenant, his band of trusty robbers,
and, in due course, the parent of Phyllis, who was the captured
maiden for whom a magnificent ransom--in horse-beans--was
unhesitatingly paid.

They all went down to tea flushed and joyous as any mountain
brigands.

But when Phyllis was going to add jam to her bread and butter,