Dil’s supper tasted good; and she was so sorry she couldn’t eat more, as she glanced up and caught Miss Mary’s eye.
“I’m ever so much better,” she said in her soft, bright manner. “I’m glad; for the boys wanted me to get well an’ fat, an’ have red cheeks. I’ll try my best, you’re all so good. An’ it’s such a beautiful place. I wonder what made—some one—think ’bout the little mothers? But the babies ought to be here too.”
“That wouldn’t give the little mothers much rest. Are there many babies in your family?”
“There ain’t any, but—but some that come in. Other people’s babies.”
“And does your mother keep a nursery?”
“I ain’t got any mother now. I took the babies ’cause I liked them.”
“But where do you live?”
“With my brother an’—an’ the boys. I keep house.”
How unchildishly reticent she seemed. And most of the children were ready to tell everything.
The little household was called in for their evening singing.