"You ain't had any supper?" asked Mrs. Stout, in surprise. Barbara smiled faintly, and shook her head. "Haven't you been to Mis' Tweedie's since school?"
"I'm not staying there now," replied Barbara as she turned her face away and shuddered.
"You don't mean it!" Mrs. Stout was beginning to grasp the situation, and her surprise turned quickly to indignation. "She's put you out, that's what she's done, the mean old—"
"No, no," said Barbara, quickly, fearing that Fanny would be included in Mrs. Stout's wrath. "She told me this morning—I tried to find a place—I had plenty of time, but—"
"Nobody'd take you in," interrupted Mrs. Stout. "They was afraid they'd soil their goody-goody hands, I s'pose."
Barbara started to speak, then checked herself and covered her face with her hands. "No, you needn't say a word," Mrs. Stout continued, "I know what's been goin' on in this town to-day, and somebody besides you has got to suffer for it. Now you just lie there and I'll get you somethin' to eat." Mrs. Stout went to the kitchen, and, after an absence of a few minutes, returned with a tempting lunch and a cup of hot tea. Barbara tried to eat, but failed despite Mrs. Stout's kindly intended urging, and dropped back wearily on the couch. When Mrs. Stout started to remove the tray Barbara looked up at her appealingly.
"You'll let me stay to-night, won't you?" she said, in a choking voice.
"Stay, I guess you can if I have to make up a bed for Peter on the floor. Stay just as long as you can stand us," replied Mrs. Stout, earnestly. At that moment they heard Peter come in.
"Emmy," he called as he was taking off his coat in the hall.
"Yes," she replied.