‘I said all the while it was madness to write and tell you about it,’ she grumbled.
Mr. Berkeley chuckled. ‘I never got your letter till last Wednesday week,’ he said. ‘It had been following me about from place to place. Poor little Babe!’ he added, pinching her cheek softly; ‘what a shame to let you knock yourself about, when your poor old father wasn’t there to take care of you!’
Auntie Anna smiled grimly. ‘No one could very well be less capable of taking care of her,’ she remarked.
Robin clambered on his father’s knee and hugged him afresh.
‘Why did you come home, father?’ he cried, raising his voice higher than ever.
Mr. Berkeley looked mildly surprised. ‘Can’t you guess, sonny?’ he asked. ‘Do you suppose I could stay another minute in somebody else’s country, when I heard that my little girl was ill over here?’
Jill got up rather suddenly, and offered to take Jean and Angela round the garden; and Auntie Anna grasped her blue-knobbed cane, and rose slowly to her feet. Before she went off, however, she shot one more question at her brother in her most abrupt manner. ‘What about your luggage, Everard?’ she demanded. ‘Where have you left it?’
Mr. Berkeley reflected a moment. ‘I think it was Boston,’ he began doubtfully, ‘but it may have been––’
He did not finish his sentence, for the old lady shook her head in despair at him and hobbled off towards the house. Barbara watched her retreating figure, and smiled gently to herself. Auntie Anna might pretend as much as she liked that she was a dragon, but nothing could prevent her looking like a fairy godmother!
Her father stroked her rough, tumbled hair caressingly, and smiled back at her.