“And auntie won’t do good when she might Aunt, Isabel and I are dying for some tea.”
“Yes, yes, my dear; I’ll pour it out directly.”
“Wait a moment, aunt,” cried Laura. “I’ll go and ask Fred if he is coming down.”
“Go and ask Fred, my dear? He is not at home.”
“What!” cried the two girls in a breath.
“He has not come back yet. I lay awake hour after hour listening, with my door a little way open—I can hear the latch-key then—but—he did not come.”
Laura glanced at her visitor, and saw trouble coming in her face like a cloud. “Oh, well, aunt, dear, it is not the first time.”
“No, my dear,” said the old lady, tightening her lips as she dropped a lump of sugar outside a cup; “it is not the first time by a long way, and I don’t like it.”
“Neither does Fred, I’m sure, poor fellow!” cried Laura, helping the ham and eggs. “It is some serious case, Bel dear, and he’ll come back tired out for you to comfort him up. You’ll often have it to do, for, poor boy, he is called out a great deal.”
At that moment Aunt Grace let the sugar-tongs fell with a clatter among the cups, and burst into a fit of sobbing.