"It must be terrible to be homeless," remarked Miss Basset; "heart-breaking, I call it."
Mr. Basset agreed. "Yet most of them appeared cheerful," he said; "that seemed marvellous to me."
"They know they've not been to blame in anyway, and that makes them brave, don't you think?" suggested Josephine. "I heard a lot about the Belgians in Exeter—you know I spent last night there with Mrs. Ford; her friends are busy making clothes for them. Oh, I wish I could sew!"
"Can't you?" asked May.
"No," Josephine replied regretfully; "I suppose you can? Oh, I do wish you'd teach me! You will? Now, that's kind of you. Can you knit?"
May shook her head. "Can you?" she questioned.
"Yes. Mrs. Ford taught me because I wanted to knit socks for father. I knitted him two silk pairs for his last birthday. I'm knitting him wool ones now. I'll tell you what: I'll teach you to knit, May, in return for your teaching me to sew, shall I?"
May flushed with pleasure.
"Oh, please!" she cried. "I should like that! I want to make things for the soldiers. Miss Cummings says nearly every one she knows is doing something for them. But there didn't seem to be anything I could do."
After tea Josephine, accompanied by May, was shown over the house. In the schoolroom the little girls found Donald, who was occupying the one easy chair the room possessed, drawn close to the fire. He was lying back with his hands clasped behind his head, a gloomy expression in his blue eyes.