To this, however, Margaret refused to give her consent. What, not take any of the Whalens—the Whalens who had been so good as to give them one whole corner of their kitchen, rent free? Certainly not! She agreed, however, after considerable discussion, to take only Tom, Mary, and Peter of the Whalen family, leaving the rest of the children and Mrs. Whalen to keep old Mike Whalen company.
“For, after all,” as she said to her mother, “if Tom and Mary and Peter like it here, the rest will. They always like what Tom does—he makes ’em.”
Mrs. Kendall never thought of that speech afterward without a shudder. She even dreamed once of this all-powerful Tom—he stood over her with clinched fists and flashing eyes, demanding that she “divvy up” to the last cent. Clearly as she understood that this was only a dream, yet the vision haunted her; and it was not without some apprehension that she went with Margaret to the station to meet her guests, on the day appointed.
A letter from Margaret had gone to Patty, and one from Mrs. Kendall to Miss Murdock, the city missionary who had been so good to Margaret. Houghtonsville was on a main line to New York, and but a few hours’ ride from the city. Mrs. Kendall had given full instructions as to trains, and had sent the money for the six tickets. She had also asked Miss Murdock to place the children in care of the conductor, saying that she would meet them herself at the Houghtonsville station.
Promptly in return had come Miss Murdock’s letter telling of the children’s delighted acceptance of the invitation; and almost immediately had followed Patty’s elaborately flourished scrawl:
“Much obliged for de invite an wes Acomin. Tanks.
“Clarabella, Arabella, an
“Patty at yer service.”
Mrs. Kendall thought of this letter and of Tom as she stood waiting for the long train from New York to come to a standstill; then she looked down at the sweet-faced daintily-gowned little maid at her side, and shuddered—it is one thing to carry beef-tea and wheel-chairs to our unfortunate fellow men, and quite another to invite those same fellow men to a seat at our own table or by our own fireside.
Margaret and her mother had not long to wait. Tom Whalen, in spite of the conductor’s restraining hand, was on the platform before the wheels had ceased to turn. Behind him tumbled Peter, Mary, and Clarabella, while Patty, carefully guiding Arabella’s twisted feet, brought up the rear. There was an instant’s pause; then Tom spied Margaret, and with a triumphant “Come on—here she is!” to those behind, he dashed down the platform.