Mrs. Morton and Sidney reappeared.
“We have settled it all,” said the husband. “When can we have him?”
“Not to-day,” said Mrs. Roger Morton; “you see, ma’am, we must get his bed ready, and his sheets well aired: I am very particular.”
“Certainly, certainly. Will he sleep alone?—pardon me.”
“He shall have a room to himself,” said Mr. Morton. “Eh, my dear? Next to Martha’s. Martha is our parlourmaid—very good-natured girl, and fond of children.”
Mrs. Morton looked grave, thought a moment, and said, “Yes, he can have that room.”
“Who can have that room?” asked Sidney, innocently. “You, my dear,” replied Mr. Morton.
“And where will mamma sleep? I must sleep near mamma.”
“Mamma is going away,” said Catherine, in a firm voice, in which the despair would only have been felt by the acute ear of sympathy,—“going away for a little time: but this gentleman and lady will be very—very kind to you.”
“We will do our best, ma’am,” said Mrs. Morton.