“Indeed I would have, or with any member of the family!”
“Exactly! And don’t you see that by trying to save them worry and annoyance you have, in a measure, caused them bitter sorrow and trouble?” Josie’s tone was a little stern.
“I know it—I know it, but not so much trouble as they would have had, had Mr. Cheatham been given any cause for complaint against them. He is a terrible man.”
“I believe you exaggerate his power for evil. He may want to be a terrible man, but I can’t see what he could do to the Trasks if you should communicate with them and let them know you are well and, we might add, happy.”
“Indeed we might, Josie, thanks to you and my other wonderful friends here in Dorfield. If you think it best I’ll write to Mrs. Trask this very night. I always saw them on Christmas, and now at least I can write to them so the letter will reach them before that day and reassure them. I know I am obsessed with fear of Mr. Cheatham and what he might be able to accomplish in the way of harming us. I must get over the feeling.”
“You certainly must! Remember there is a perfectly good law in this land of the free and home of the brave, and a fairly good police force to carry out the law. There is nothing Cheatham can do to you, either, for that matter. You tell me he was not appointed your guardian?”
“No, my father appointed Uncle Ben executor of his will and guardian in case my mother should marry again, but Mother was influenced by Mr. Cheatham to dispute Uncle Ben’s rights to dictate to us and so Uncle Ben left the matter in her hands. If Uncle Ben would only come back!”
“Well, suppose he does come back—has come back, in fact. How under Heaven would he find his wards, if they go off and run a tea room in a quiet little spot like Dorfield?”
Ursula wrote to her friends at Peewee Valley that same evening, giving them a detailed account of the happenings to herself and small brothers, begging their forgiveness for her long silence and explaining to them the reason for her running off without informing them of her plans. When the letter was in the mail the girl felt happier than she had for a long time, but still doubts would arise as to the wisdom of having written.
Poor Ursula had fallen in the habit of worrying. She was naturally of a timid disposition and the hard life she had endured with her stepfather had increased the tendency to fear imaginary evils as well as the ones of which there was no doubt. She could not say what it was she feared from Mr. Cheatham and the evil Miss Fitchet, but with her at all times was a kind of nameless dread. The gay, bright atmosphere at the Higgledy Piggledy Shop did much to dispel this gloom, but at times it enveloped her in spite of her endeavors to break through it. Now that she had at last written the dear old friends the cloud seemed somewhat lifted.