"I'm—I'm losted, and I'm tired and so hungry."
Even in this woful climax, Theodora noted the gurgle of the child's sobs. She told herself that it was like water bubbling from a bottle, a large earthen bottle. Then she reproached herself for her misplaced sense of humor.
There followed a little question, a little answer, a little consolation. Then, before she quite realized what she was doing, Theodora was walking rapidly towards home, with brotherly love swelling in her heart, and the child's smutty hand clasped in her woollen mitten. She had delayed longer than she knew, the walk home was long, and before she reached there, the twilight had quite fallen, the house was brightly lighted, and the family were gathered in the dining-room.
"Dear me, they're all at supper!" she said to herself, as she went up the steps. "Never mind, little girl," she added, with a conscious patronage which not even her sympathy could keep down. "They're having their supper now. I'll take you up to my room, and, as soon as they're through, I'll give you something to eat."
Her feminine intuition told her that the child's welcome would not be so warm if she were presented at the supper-table. For a moment, she hesitated what disposition to make of her charge. Then, herself hungry and eager to get to the table and tell the story of her adventure, she led the way to her room and popped the child into her own dainty bed.
Mrs. McAlister looked up as Theodora entered the room.
"Teddy, dear, this is my brother Archie, come at last."
"You are late, Teddy, and I was just getting anxious about you. Archie, this is my twin daughter, Theodora. Teddy dear, this is my dear brother Archie, come at last." There was an exultant note in Mrs. McAlister's voice which Theodora had never heard before.