"It's awful!" said Mrs. Spencer, coming in from the kitchen. "I hope your mother won't blame me, Marjorie; I'm sure I couldn't help it."
"Of course she won't blame you, Mrs. Spencer. She'll only be sorry for you."
"But she'll be so worried about you."
"Yes'm; I s'pose she will. But maybe, if I do take it, it will be a light case."
"Oh, don't talk of light cases! I hope you won't have it at all,—either of you."
After what seemed to Marjorie a long time of waiting, her mother called her up on the telephone.
"My dear little girl," said Mrs. Maynard, "how shall I get along without you for two weeks?"
"Oh, Mother," said Marjorie, "you have the others, but I haven't anybody!
How shall I get along without you?"
Marjorie's voice was trembling, and though Mrs. Maynard was heart-broken she forced herself to be cheerful for Midget's sake.
"Well, dearie," she said, "we must make the best of it. I'll telephone you three times a day,—or at least, some of us will,—and I'll write you letters."