She felt sure that had her parents been at home they would have done the same thing, and in their absence her own sense of responsibility asserted itself, and upheld her in her present action.
The eight Simpsons trudged up the steps behind the Maynards, and as they all stood in front of the long glass doors, whose heavy lace panels only partly screened the brightly lighted hall, King rang the bell.
CHAPTER XI
A FRIEND IN NEED
Now, while the Simpsons’ cottage had been burning, the occupants of the Maynard house had been in a state of great consternation. Miss Larkin and her two guests from Boston had arrived shortly after five o’clock, and Sarah met them at the door with a scared look on her face.
“Are the children with you, ma’am?” she said, as Miss Larkin stepped across the threshold.
“With me, Sarah? No, indeed. I left them in the drawing-room.”
“Well, they’re not there, ma’am; and they’re not in the house. I thought as how they must have run out to meet the carriage. Master King’s cap and the little girls’ hats is in their places, so they haven’t gone far.”
“Oh, I suppose they’re hiding, to tease us,” said Miss Larkin, in an annoyed tone. “They’ll probably jump out of the guest-room wardrobe, or something like that. Mrs. Mortimer, you must be prepared for childish pranks. The little Maynards are the most mischievous children I ever saw.”
Mrs. Mortimer smiled, and said nothing, but her expression seemed to indicate little tolerance for juvenile misbehavior. She had no children of her own, and so had not learned patience and forbearance as mothers have to.
But Mr. Mortimer was by nature more sympathetic with childish ways.