“I will a moment, but I can’t stay. I came up with father. I wanted to see poor Mary who got scared and lost her baby Fourth of July night.”
“I heard she was better,” said Ruth.
“Father heard so too, and thought I hadn’t better come, but I would come. I know she feels bad about her baby and I want to tell her how sorry I am and how much I blame Mr. Bombs.” The blue eyes filled with tears.
“Fireworks are dangerous things,” said Ruth. She felt her own eyes getting misty and she was wondering if Schwarmer’s daughter knew of their action in regard to the Schwarmer fireworks.
“Yes, they are dangerous,” said Miss Schwarmer, “and they are horrid—all that I have ever seen; and I blame father for ever buying such awful things to give away. I don’t believe he ever will any more. There are so many pretty things to buy.”
“Bless your heart,” said Ruth. “I’m sure he never will if you ask him not to.”
“I have asked him not to and I’ve blamed him. He is going to let me buy things after this, for the children here.”
“O that will be lovely,” exclaimed Ruth—“then we shall see you often shall we not?”
“I wish I could stay here always,” said Miss Schwarmer. “I don’t like to travel but we’re all going over to London with Mr. Bombs. I don’t like him, though he is honest with me. I blame him for not being honest with others. Father says he was educated to amuse and mystify the people. Isn’t it horrid to be mystified?”
Ruth assured her it was and then she left with Dombey at her heels.