“You were very kind to these boys,” said Carey, warmly shaking hands with him. “The name sounded friendly, but I little thought you were Mary’s brother. Are you living here, Mary? How delightful!”
“Alas, no; I am only keeping holiday with David. I go back to-morrow.”
“Then stay now, stay and let me get all I can of you, in this frightful muddle,” entreated Caroline. “Chaos is come again, but you won’t mind.”
“I’ll come and help you,” said Mary. “David, you must go on alone and come back for me.”
“Can’t I be of use?” offered David, feeling rather shut out in the cold; “I see a bookcase. Isn’t that in my line?”
“And here’s the box with its books,” said Janet. “Oh! mother, do let that be finished off at least! Bobus, there are the shelves, and I have all their pegs in my basket.”
The case was happily in its place against the wall, and Janet had seized on her recruit to hold the shelves while she pegged them, while the two friends were still exchanging their first inquiries, Carey exclaiming, “Now, you naughty Mary, where have you been, and why didn’t you write?”
“I have been in Russia, and I didn’t write, because nobody answered, and I didn’t know where anybody was.”
“In Russia! I thought you were with a Scottish family, and wrote to you to the care of some laird with an unearthly name.”
“But you knew that they took me abroad.”