But Betty had consoled her with explanations about the “foreignness” of the mill people, and their consequent love for queer things. Betty felt capable of consoling anybody that day. She fairly danced as she packed the cakes on the afternoon of the party, and her infectious gaiety in the evening was one of the best reasons why everything went off so well.
“It has been just lovely, girls,” she said to the group of Cakes who crowded around her begging her to tell them how they looked and whether they had done their dance well. “Those little Italian girls in the front row told me they never knew a party could be so beautiful, and their mothers almost cried when they thanked Mr. Thayer. We’ve had lots of fun ourselves, but the best of it is that we’ve given them a good time they’ll remember as long as they live.”
But Betty had a special reason for feeling happy. For two letters had come in her morning mail. The one she opened first was directed in the smallest sister’s round, painstaking hand.
“Darlingest Betty,” she began, “mother says I may come to see you. She said I could go to see Nan. I love Nan, but I am your compiny. A person who is compiny always comes to see you. I will be a good girl and always run away when you are busy.
“Dorothy.”
“The dear little midget,” laughed Betty, and tossed the letter to Madeline. “She wanted to help with the tea-room, so Will told her she could be a silent partner—the company in the firm. And now she wants to come and see me because she’s my ‘compiny.’”
“She says she is coming,” Madeline corrected her. “Is that her own idea, or is she really going to make us a visit?”
“I don’t know.” Betty was deep in her mother’s letter. “Why—oh, dear! Father is going away off to Mexico, and he’s going to take mother with him! He may have to stay all the rest of the winter. It’s some land he’s going to see about, and he hates to go alone. He and mother are such old lovers! oh, and he hasn’t been very well, and he hates to go alone, and mother can’t bear to have him. He says that her fare now will cost less than a doctor later, and she can just as well board down there as in Cleveland, if I can manage Dorothy.”
“Well, you can, can’t you?” inquired Madeline placidly.
“I can, can I?” Betty’s eyes sparkled. “It’s plain, Madeline Ayres, that you’re an only child. You haven’t the least idea how it feels to get a letter like this from that cute youngster. Mother says they tried to make her go to Nan’s school, but she wouldn’t come to any one but me. Can I manage? I can manage anything with a dear little sister to play with. Oh, Madeline, I’ve been homesick, and I never knew it till now!”