Miss Basset assented, her eyes filling with tears as she did so; she wiped them hastily.
"And he is sending his little daughter to us in charge of a brother officer's wife who is going to Exeter," she explained; "he wants us to keep her till the end of the war. I do think—" turning to her brother— "that he should have consulted us, though, before making his plans."
"My dear Ann, don't you realize he had no time for anything but to act? His regiment was ordered immediately to the front, and he had to decide what to do with Josephine at once. He has paid us a compliment, I consider, in sending the child to us. It shows he realizes we shall do our best for her and try to make her happy. You noticed, I suppose, that he remarked she would probably be with us almost as soon as her letter? So we may expect her any time now."
"Then I must see about having a bedroom prepared for her," Miss Basset said, rising; "she shall have the one next mine, for it faces south and is very warm and cosy. If she is a nice child it will be pleasant for May. Poor little soul, I dare say she's in dreadful trouble about her father—because he's gone to the war, I mean. She may never see him again."
"Or he may live to win the Victoria Cross!" cried Donald, his eyes sparkling. Then, as Miss Basset left the room, he continued: "Oh, how I wish I was a man and able to enlist in the army! When I think of those poor Belgians fighting so bravely I long to be a few years older—but, there, my knee will prevent my ever being a soldier now, I suppose!"
"Never mind!" said May; "never mind, dear!"
"But I do mind!" the boy answered sharply, "so what's the good of your talking like that? Never mind, indeed!"
Mr. Basset had gone to the window, and was looking out into the garden where autumn flowers still lingered. He was paying no attention to the children, and presently he opened the window and stepped out into the October sunshine. There was silence in the breakfast-room for some minutes after he had gone. May felt snubbed, but she showed no resentment. She was naturally sweet-tempered and allowed Donald to treat her as he pleased. It would have been better for both of them, perhaps, if she had not. During the time he had been ill with his injured knee she had been his willing slave, and when he had vented his irritability upon her she had borne it without complaint.
"I wonder what Josephine will be like," she remarked presently, "and if we shall get on with her?"
"What's the good of wondering? I wish it was a boy who was coming instead of a girl!"