"No; we will both say Barbie's prayers for her," decided David.
The low voices stopped. For a space there was silence. Then Sandy spoke--
"Have you nearly done, Dave? I've got as far's Barbie's."
There was no response, and Sandy, respecting the silence which he took for the hush of devotion, held his peace, and essayed for the third time his evening prayer.
In a few moments, whilst below was desolation and the anguish of bereavement--up above, under the stars, all the children slept.
Meeting no one, Marjorie and Mr. Pelham hastily ascended the spiral stairs.
Issuing on to the leads, Marjorie glanced hastily round. Together they hurried, till, under the little turret, they stood beside the, as yet, unawakened group. It looked very pathetic in the morning greyness, the little huddled-up party, which the sun had not yet reached.
The man's frame trembled as he stooped--doubting, fearing, his keen eyes noting the care which had been bestowed upon his little child. Not much of her was visible--only a rosy cheek, under the tangle of hair which lay across David's knee. The boy's body had sunk slightly as the muscles relaxed in sleep; and he and Sandy were now propped together. Both of them were jacketless: Sandy's little body was covered only by his vest.
David's hand lay protectingly across Barbara, over whom his jacket lay outspread. She was warm and rosy; so were the two babies curled up under the little coat--a scanty covering--of which Sandy had divested himself.
Marjorie sank down beside Sandy. He looked white and wan, and there was a look of disturbance and unrest on his sleeping face. His head rested uncomfortably against David's shoulder. Solicitously, she gathered his unprotected little body into her warm arms; and at her movement he opened startled blue eyes upon her.
"Is it mornin'?" he asked; then quickly, "Is the fam'ly safe?"
"How could you, Sandy?" Marjorie asked, tenderly kissing the impertinent little nose turned up to her. And that was all the reproach Sandy ever heard.
[Illustration: "THE LITTLE HUDDLED-UP PARTY."]
"Didn't mean to, Margie," eagerly. "The door got locked 'fore we got down. How did you guess we were here?" he went on, the fascination of the "game," now that he again felt safe and irresponsible, filling his imagination. "Was it the signal?"