“It is right, Mrs. Simpson. You know how kind my mother is to you, and now she’s away, I’m head of the house.”
Unconsciously, Marjorie drew up her plump little figure to its full height, and her air of authority carried its own conviction.
“Yes, indeed,” chimed in King. “And I know my father would say just what I say; come ahead, Mrs. Simpson, and welcome!”
As a matter of fact, King was not moved so much by the certainty that his father would say this, as by his natural impulse to back up Marjorie’s invitation, and also assert his own position as “head of the house” equally with herself.
Something of this same spirit imbued Kitty, and she said:
“Indeed, I think we’d be very selfish not to share our home with these poor, afflicted people. Mrs. Simpson, don’t you bother about anything at all; you just bring your children and come right along with us. Father often says to us, ‘Children, in a ’mergency you must think for yourselves, and think quickly.’ So now we’ve thought, and we did it as quick as we could; so you just come on and say no more about it.”
Kitty did not mean to be crisp of speech, but Mrs. Simpson was still looking uncertain, and diffidently hanging back, and Kitty was anxious to get home.
“Yes; come on,” said King, realizing himself the need for immediate action.
“Well, I’ll go, just for to-night,” said Mrs. Simpson, looking scared at her own decision. “I’ll go, as I haven’t a roof where to lay my head—I mean—a—a——”
The poor woman was really incoherent from shock and excitement. Always frail, she had overworked her strength to keep her family clothed and fed, and now she was nearly at the end of her endurance.