"But Bobby's got to be told, my dear. I have bought our tickets—as I told you," Mr. Blake said. "We can't wait any longer."
"Oh, dear me, John!" Bobby heard his mother say. "Must we leave him behind?"
"My dear! we have talked it all over so many times," Mr. Blake said, patiently. "It is a long voyage. Not so long to Para; but the transportation up the river, to Samratam, is uncertain. Brother Bill left the business in some confusion, I understand, and we may be obliged to remain some months. It would not be well to take Bobby. He must go to school. I am doubtful of the advisability of taking you, my dear—"
"You shall not go without me, John," interrupted Mrs. Blake, and Bobby knew she was crying softly. "I would rather that we lost all the money your brother left—"
"There, there!" said Bobby's father, comfortingly. "You're going, my dear. And we will leave Bobby in good hands."
"But whose hands?" cried his wife. "Meena can look after the house, and Michael we can trust with everything else. But neither of them are proper guardians for my boy, John."
"I know," agreed Mr. Blake, and Bobby, lying wide awake in his bed, knew just how troubled his father looked. He hopped out of bed and crept softly to the door. He did not mean to be an eavesdropper, but he could not have helped hearing what his father and mother said.
"We have no relatives with whom to leave him," Mrs. Blake said. "And all our friends in Clinton have plenty of children of their own and wouldn't want to be bothered. Or else they are people who have no children and wouldn't know how to get along with Bobby."
"It's a puzzle," began her husband, and just then Bobby pushed open the door and appeared in the dressing-room.
"I heard you, Pa!" he cried. "I couldn't help it. I was awake and the door was open. I know just what you can do with me if I can't go with you to where Uncle Bill died."