“The—‘others’? What others, dear?”
“Why, the other folks that live here, you know, and walk out here, too.”
Mrs. Kendall laughed merrily.
“But there aren’t any others, dear. The flowers are all ours. No one else lives here.”
Margaret stopped short in the garden path and faced her mother.
“What, not any one? in all that big house?”
“Why, no, dear, of course not. There is no one except old Mr. and Mrs. Barrett who keep the house and grounds in order. We have it all to ourselves.”
Margaret was silent. She turned and walked slowly along the path at her mother’s side. On her face was a puzzled questioning. To her eyes was gradually coming a frightened doubt.
Alone?—just they two, with the little old man and the little old woman in the kitchen who did not take up any room at all? Why, back in the Alley there were Patty, the twins, and all the Whalens—and they had only one room! It was like that, too, everywhere, all through the Alley—so many, many people, so little room for them. Yet here—here was this great house all windows and doors and soft carpets and pretty pictures, and only two, three, four people to enjoy it all. Why had not her mother asked——
Even to herself Margaret could not say the words. She shut her lips tight and threw a hurried look into the face of the woman at her side. This dear dream-lady, this beautiful new mother—as if there could be any question of her goodness and kindness! Very likely, anyway, there were not any poor——