Mr. Blake sat down on the stone wall at the side of the road, and listened to the tale Lydia had to tell.
“Let me see your arm, son,” said he gently, when Lydia had finished. “So that is where the big boy pinched you, is it? Have you any more places like that?”
Roger nodded, and put his hand on his side and his back.
“He hit me with the harness,” said he, with trembling lip. “I want to stay with her. I won’t go back.” And Roger smeared away his tears with the back of a grimy little hand, while with the other he clutched his new friend Lydia.
“No, of course you won’t go back, son,” answered Mr. Blake, pursing up his lips as if to whistle. “We can do better by you than that. My little girl is going up to Robin Hill to make a visit, and you shall go along with her. Miss Martin will simply have two visitors instead of one.” And Mr. Blake smiled down into the serious little faces looking up into his.
“Mother’s head is worse, Lydia,” he explained, “and Dr. Wolfe isn’t sure what the trouble is. So you are to make a little visit at Robin Hill, and I will telephone every day, and come to see you when I can.”
“But won’t Mother want me to wait on her?” asked Lydia anxiously. “Is she very sick?”
“I hope not,” answered Father, in such a cheerful voice that Lydia felt better immediately. “Don’t fret. You will probably be home in a few days, and you know you will want to stay, anyway, until Roger feels at home. Here comes Alexander; he will take you up. And I packed your bag myself, Lydia. I think I put everything in. I know I packed your favorite brown slippers, and Lucy Locket is on top of everything.”
Mr. Blake was lifting the children into the cart as he spoke. He talked in a low voice to Alexander, and then with a kiss to Lydia, and a pat upon Roger’s black pate, he started back to the house, and off they drove.
“They are my ‘brown bettys’!” cried Lydia after him. “Tell Mother I’ll wear them only on Sunday.”