There was a vision of slim black legs and white pinafore disappearing across the hall, and Jill could not help laughing. ‘I must catch the post, and write to that child Jean,’ she decided, after a moment’s reflection. ‘It won’t be so bad for the poor little mite if she has some one to show her round.’
Late on the following afternoon the ‘adopted kid’ found another chance of making her way to Barbara’s heart. Barbara had wandered into the library, with a whole hour to spare before the carriage should come round to drive her to school; and, rather to her surprise, she discovered Kit there, sitting huddled up in the arm-chair, with his shoulders up to his ears. She had thought that all the boys were out ratting, and she had not expected to see any of them until they came in at tea-time to bid her farewell. She was feeling rather doleful, now that the important moment was so near, for she realised that if she was going to everything that was new and delightful, she was also going away from the boys for the first time in her life. It did not cheer her to find Christopher sitting over the fire with an attack of asthma.
‘Kit!’ she cried in distress. ‘I didn’t know you were ill!’
Kit crouched closer to the fire and growled. Asthma always had a bad effect upon his temper, and to-day he had a grievance as well.
‘Of course you didn’t know,’ he muttered. ‘You never know anything now. Can’t think what’s come over you lately.’
Barbara reddened, and the tears welled up in her eyes. No one could hurt her so easily as Christopher. ‘I’m awfully sorry, Kit. I suppose I’ve been thinking about school,’ she said; and she dropped the poker with a bang that made him wince.
‘Lucky for you to be able to go to school,’ answered Kit, crossly. ‘Look at me! Just because of that journey on Wednesday I’ve got to coddle like an old woman.’
Barbara stood gazing at him helplessly. Her heart was full of pity, but no one had ever taught her how to show it. ‘Poor old boy!’ she said awkwardly. ‘Would you like me to tell you a story?’
‘Not I! How can you think of a story when you’re full of that stupid school?’ was the surly answer.
‘But I’m not thinking about school now, Kit,’ persisted the Babe, becoming tearful.