"Your mistake was in not asking—"
"We thought you'd better not be 'sturbed, 'cause ever since grandpa and brother died, you've thought such a lot, and looked so worried—"
"But I was more worried about you when I found you weren't in the house or grounds; I thought you might be lost, and I was about telephoning to the police station about it, when you came, and there was just time to catch the train."
Then Ethelwyn got down, and went over to squeeze in on the other side of her mother. She knelt on the cushions and patted the dear face until the little smile they loved, came out again, and drove the care lines away.
"Children are such a worry, mother," she said in a funny, prim fashion, "that I should think you'd be sorry you ever bought us."
"But we are going to be good from now on, so good you'll nearly die laughing," said Beth, getting up to pat her side of the face.
Their mother laughed now in a bright fashion they loved, and squeezed them up tightly.
"No, no, chickens," she said, "I'm never sorry I bought you; you were bargains, both of you, but I've had much to think of, and plan for, in the last few months, and perhaps I've neglected you somewhat."
"Can you tell us 'bout things, mother?" asked Ethelwyn. "P'raps we could help some."
"Yes, I am going to, but not now, for the porter wishes to make up our beds."