Ruth Warren had heard this remark hundreds of times in the three years since she had offered a home to this aunt who was alone in the world; but she was unfailingly kind to the fanciful woman. “Yes, Aunt Virginia, you must be careful,” she said, motioning for the children to go down-stairs.
“Remember, Aunt Virginia, Sarah will come to you instantly any moment you ring for her,” said Ruth Warren, stopping to arrange her aunt’s pillows more comfortably, and kissing her on the forehead. But the slow yet vigorous voice followed her out of the door: “I am growing so feeble, Ruth, that I soon must have a regular nurse to stay with me, especially when you are out.”
The three girls were unusually quiet when Ruth Warren joined them, for her aunt had made them feel as if they were very troublesome.
“What shall we do about the dolls’ dresses, our work to-day?” the Club president asked cheerfully.
“We might each make two at home,” Betty found voice to say, for the Club: “Alice might take hers now, and Elsa and I can call for ours.”
So Alice chose two pink-and-white gingham dresses, rolled them into a little bundle and put them into the pocket of her blue coat, while Elsa and Betty looked on, embarrassed and quiet, even now.
But when Miss Ruth had put on the brown fur-trimmed coat and hat which matched her brown dress, and the three girls were once out in the open air, the shadow cast upon their spirits by Miss Virginia vanished entirely. Each one begged to carry the straw hand-bag containing the lunch, and they finally agreed to carry it by turns, beginning with Elsa, the oldest.
“You have to pass my house to go to the Convalescent Home, and there are dogs out that way,” suggested Alice, running on ahead and looking back at the others.
“I will take a stick,” said Elsa.
“I will take my feet,” exclaimed Betty.