CHAPTER IX.
THE DESERT ISLAND.
THE month that followed was a sorry one. Day after day rose dry and burning: no cool winds fanned the breathless nights, no rain fell. The poor children had headache, they felt limp and weary all over; and yet each morning brought the same hard work which must be done, whether or no. And sleep was rendered almost impossible by the mosquitoes, who seemed to possess stings and wings and buzzes such as never mosquitoes boasted before. Whenever poor Thekla dropped into a nap, after hours of tossing, in the stifling loft which served her for bedroom, "Spizz-z-z-z" the teasing little trumpets would begin; and immediately she would be
