"So do I," her husband replied. "Mother spoke very affectionately of you, Helen," he proceeded, "and said how much she enjoyed your long letters, and she told me I was fortunate in my wife. 'She's a real lady, Andrew,' she said, 'if she wasn't she'd be ashamed of your old mother, and, instead of that, she treats me as a daughter would treat a mother, and I love her for it.' And I love her for it, too," he concluded in a tone so soft and low that only Ann caught the words.
"Oh, Andrew!" Mrs. Reed exclaimed, her fair face flushing rosy red. "I shall write to her to-morrow and tell her how well Ann and I consider you looking, she will be glad to hear that."
"I wish poor Wyndham could have a change for a few days," observed the doctor meditatively; "he looked as though he needed it badly. He and his family are on my mind. I shall not rest until I have found some way of helping them. We must put our heads together, Helen, and see what can be done."
His wife assented; and Ann's face brightened as she whispered to her father:—
"Oh, father, I don't think you'll have much difficulty in persuading the little mother to agree to your plan!"
[CHAPTER IV]
DR. REED'S OFFER
TWO months had elapsed since the Sunday Dr. Reed had spent with his old friend at Streatham, and it was now the second week in January. The Wyndham children were all at home for the holidays, and, as the weather was wet and stormy, they had to remain indoors nearly every day, which proved trying, especially for the boys who teased their sisters, and worried poor Barbara "nearly out of her life," as she declared to Ruth, to whom she confided her grievances. Mr. Wyndham was working at the office very late of a night, at this time, and returning home in the early hours of the morning; his wife tried her best to keep the house quiet whilst he was taking his rest, but it was most difficult to do so, and the consequence was that he often failed in obtaining the sleep he so badly needed.
"I don't think our boys are worse than others," Mrs. Wyndham remarked to her little daughters, one afternoon, when Barbara had ousted the twins from the kitchen and they had betaken themselves to their own room upstairs, where, for the present, they were quiet; "but I must admit that they are very high-spirited and noisy. Barbara cannot manage them a bit."
"She cannot get on with her work if they are playing marbles on the kitchen floor," Violet replied; "and you know, mother, you complained to her yesterday that she had not changed her gown by tea-time."