Rosy Posy recovered first, and at an invitation from Nurse to come and cut paper-dolls, she went off smiling in her usual happy fashion. Not so the others.
Kitty threw herself on the sofa and burying her face in a pillow sobbed as if her heart would break.
This nearly unnerved King, who, being a boy, was specially determined not to cry.
“Let up, Kit,” he said, with a sort of tender gruffness in his tone. “If you don’t you’ll have us all at it. I say, Mops, let’s play something.”
“Don’t feel like it,” said Marjorie, who was digging at her eyes with a wet ball of a handkerchief.
It was Saturday, so they couldn’t go to school, and there really seemed to be nothing to do.
But reaction is bound to come, and after a time, Kitty’s sobs grew less frequent and less violent; King managed to keep his mouth up at the corners; and Marjorie shook out her wet handkerchief and hung it over a chair-back with some slight feeling of interest.
“I think,” Midget began, “that the nicest thing to do this morning would be something that Mother would like to have us do. Something special, I mean.”
“Such as what?” asked Kitty, between two of those choking after-sobs that follow a hard crying-spell.
“I don’t know, exactly. Can’t you think of something, King? Maybe something for Miss Larkin.”