‘Never mind, Babs dear,’ said Angela, consolingly; ‘think how proud you will be when you can tell him all about it yourself.’
Not appreciating the distinction of having broken her leg quite so warmly as Angela, Babs did not respond; and the arrival of tea, and with it every one from the house, made her give up the immediate attempt to pity herself. After all, people who went away to America to lecture could not leave their children to break their legs by themselves for ever; and meanwhile, there was home-made cake and strawberry jam under the cedar tree.
It was in the middle of tea, just as Robin, with a wavering hand, was conveying a second cup to Babs, that the wonderful event happened. Jill had the best view of the house from where she sat at the tea-table, and her sudden exclamation interrupted the jeers of the others over Robin’s strenuous performance.
‘Such a funny-looking man is coming up the drive!’ she remarked. ‘He’s wearing the very oddest kind of clothes, too–a sort of Inverness cape, and a squashy brown hat. And do look at the way he is walking, with his arms swinging about–just like Peter, when he’s in a hurry.’
‘He must be a tramp,’ said Angela, giggling.
Everybody looked round, except Barbara, who made a plaintive request, that nobody heard, for her couch to be wheeled into a different position.
Then Auntie Anna gave a little shriek, and dropped her pince-nez into her lap.
‘Bless my soul!’ she cried, fumbling for them in an agitated manner. ‘Why, it looks exactly like–I do believe–look, Jill! Your eyes are younger than––’
The boys were sharper than Jill, though, and they settled the question at once in their own riotous fashion. Barbara’s second cup of tea fell with a crash and a splash, before she could reach out her hand for it, and her two brothers rushed shouting and screaming across the lawn. In another instant they had disappeared in the folds of the Inverness cape; and Angela Wilkins realised with a shock that she had called Barbara Berkeley’s father a tramp!