Mildred fanned herself with her hat, and regarded her sister half crossly, half curiously.
"I hate to talk over bothers with you, Milly," said the latter at last; "but I do have a lot of bothers lately."
Mildred wondered if it were imagination that she saw tears, gather in the other's eyes. If they were tears, they were well trained to obedience. Clover sank still farther back and lay upon the grass, and any moisture that had crept forth retreated to its source.
"Is mother any worse?" Mildred asked in a hushed voice.
"No; although she is no better, and any suffering she may endure is the hardest trial we can have to bear. Other perplexities are trying in proportion as they have relation to her, and all our perplexities must, in the end, bear upon her. How to conceal them is the study."
"What have you to conceal? What?" asked Mildred quickly, her large, childlike eyes full of wonder. "Mother knows, she has to, that we barely make both ends meet, and she thinks you are a perfect wonder, the way you manage. What is it, Clover? Is it Frank's education you are worrying about again? Goodness! Don't tell me you did the washing to save up money for that?" The speaker's eyes widened with surprise and disapproval.
Clover shook her head and smiled faintly.
"I've noticed lately that you aren't half so jolly as you used to be."
Clover sat up with such suddenness as to make Mildred start. "Has mother noticed it?" she demanded.
"No, not that I know of. You needn't look so tragical. I only mean you are ever so much more thoughtful and old-womanish just lately than you used to be. I'm sure I don't see why you should let yourself be bothered if we're all willing to live right down at the bottom of everything, and I don't make any fuss about wearing the same dress to school until the girls must think I've grown into it."