A very subdued Jacqueline, she greeted Aunt Martha on her return.
“Grandma’s been all right,” she said. “Only I couldn’t get her to take her broth.”
Aunt Martha clicked her tongue against her teeth. Black smudges of weariness showed beneath her unsmiling eyes.
“It’s that way, half the time,” she told Jacqueline. “Sick folks get notions. I’ll see if I can coax her to take it.”
But when Aunt Martha came out of the parlor, Jacqueline knew, by the worried look she wore, that she hadn’t been successful.
Jacqueline ran to her—she couldn’t help it!—and threw her arms about her.
“Oh, Aunt Martha!” she whimpered. “It’s all my fault. She wants her green-dragon cup—and I broke it. I’ve just got to go to the village to-morrow and get her another.”
Aunt Martha held Jacqueline close.
“There, there,” she said, and patted her. “No use crying over spilt milk, child. There isn’t another of those old green-dragon cups to be had for love nor money.”
“But I can get her a thin cup, I know I can,” begged Jacqueline. “Please let me go try!”