Hull shook his head. "Isn't it strange!" he mused; "—the difference between members of the same family! There's one sister, neglecting her own child—and a sweet child. And here's another sister, bearing the burden."
But Barbara was quick to the rescue of the absent parent under criticism. "Aunt Clare says that some day my mother's coming back from Africa," she protested. "And then I'm going to be with her all the time—every day."
"I s'pose the kid'll live with you and Clare when you marry," ventured
Tottie.
"No. Clare doesn't want me to have the expense. Says it isn't fair.
But—I'll get in touch with that father."
Again the child interposed, recognizing the note of threatening. "Maybe my father won't come with my mother," she declared. "Because he hunts lions."
Tottie laughed. "Well, he'd better cut out huntin' lions," she retorted, "and hunt you some duds." Then to Hull, "I wonder what they're up to, 'way out there. What is it about 'em that's so secret?"
"That's not my affair," reminded Hull, bluntly. He got up, dropping the child's hand.
Feeling herself dismissed, but scarcely knowing at what or whom this stranger was directing his ill-temper, Barbara retreated, and to the doll, sitting starkly upon the green chair. "Come on, Lolly-Poppins," she whispered tenderly, and taking the doll up in her arms, went back to the corner of the settee to rock and kiss it, to smooth and caress it with restless little hands.
Tottie sidled over to Hull, lowering her voice against the child's overhearing her. "Y' know what I think?" she demanded.
"What?"