"N-no," Patricia answered; "probably their things weren't very get-atable. We'll have to take some of my gowns, Sarah."
Whereupon Archibald lifted up his voice in swift protestation; he didn't want to wear a girl's things; he wanted to go home; he wanted to sleep in his own bed; he wanted his mother!
At that all-compelling word four other voices rose in instantaneous lamentation, even Norma catching the general infection.
"Sarah, can't you do something?" Patricia implored. "Nell, what does your mother do when your brothers cry like this?"
"They—don't cry like this," Nell answered, trying desperately to quiet Lydia.
"Mebbe next time, Miss P'tricia," Sarah's tone was strictly of the "I-told-you-so" order, "yo' won't go 'vitin' a whole tribe o' young uns, widout resultin' any one."
Patricia, walking the room with the screaming Totty, came to a sudden halt before Archibald, lying face down on the floor. "If you'll stop crying I'll let Custard come up," she said.
"Who's Custard?" Archibald rolled over on his back to consider the matter.
"My dog."
"Where is he?"