Mr. Lloyd's letter came, but instead of helping matters, it left them in quite as much of a quandary as ever. He said that it would be impossible to sell the town house during the summer season. That the repairs must be made, or the tenants would not be willing to stay. He advised Mrs. Dorrance to retrench her expenses in every possible way, and stated further, that although the repairs must be made at once, it would not be necessary to pay the bills immediately on their presentation.
He said that although he would be glad to run up to see them in their country home, he could not leave the city at present, but he might be able to visit them later on.
Altogether it was not a satisfactory letter, and Leicester expressed open disapproval.
"That's a nice thing," he said, "to tell us not to pay our bills! As if we wanted to live with a lot of debts hanging over our heads!"
"I think it's lucky that we don't have to pay them right off," said Dorothy; "something may happen before we have to pay them."
Dorothy had a decided touch of the Micawber element in her nature and usually lived in the hope of something happening. And, to do her justice, it often did.
To the surprise of the others Fairy seemed very much impressed by the gravity of the situation, and more than that she seemed to think that it devolved on her to do something to relieve it. She walked over to Mrs. Hickox's to make her usual Wednesday visit, and though she skipped along as usual she was really thinking seriously.
She found Mrs. Hickox sitting on a bench under a tree paring apples, and Fairy sat down beside her.
"Of course I'm only twelve," she began, "but really I can do a great many things; only the trouble is none of them seem to be remunerary."
The two had become great friends, and though Mrs. Hickox was a lady of uncertain affections, she had taken a great fancy to Fairy, and in her queer way showed a real fondness for the child. She had also become accustomed to Fairy's manner of plunging suddenly into a subject.