"Suppose we keep them all, then?" she hazarded.
"Mary!"
"Oh, I can manage it! I 've been talking with Hannah—I saw how things were going with you "—his features relaxed into a shame-faced smile—"and Hannah says her sister can come to help, and we 've got beds enough with the cots in the attic."
He drew a deep breath.
"Then we won't have to tell them!" he exclaimed.
"No, we won't have to tell them," she laughed, as she turned back into the house.
What a fortnight that was at "Meadowbrook!" The mornings—no longer peaceful—were full of rollicking games; and the long, drowsy afternoons became very much awake with gleeful shouts. The spotless order fled before the bats and balls and books and dolls that Mr. Wentworth brought home from the store; and the methodical routine of the household was shattered to atoms by daily picnics and frequent luncheons of bread and butter.
No longer were the days ordered with a precision that admitted of no frivolous deviations, for who could tell in the morning how many bumped heads, cut fingers, bruised noses and wounded hearts would need sympathetic attention before night?
And so it went on until the evening before the two weeks were completed; then, after the children were abed and asleep, the man and his wife talked it over.
"Well, this ends to-morrow, I suppose. You must be tired, Mary; it's been a hard time for you, dear," he began.