Poor Mr. Clayburn held the trembling hand in a firm clasp as he said warmly: “There now, little girl, don’t be worrying any more than you can help. You’ll be surprised how fine things are going to turn out. Good-by. I’ll come after Carol when you say the word.”
As soon as the banker had driven out of the dooryard, Dixie threw herself down in the big grandfather’s chair and sobbed as though her heart would break, but at last she rose, washed her face, tidied her hair, and began setting the table for supper. The other three would soon be returning, and the little mother of them all would have to be the one to be brave, outwardly at least. But oh, how the heart of her yearned for the father whose strong arms had always been her haven of refuge! But now she, Dixie, must be haven for the other three.
“Here they come,” she told herself. “Now we’ll talk it over, and Carol may make her choice.”
CHAPTER TEN
CAROL’S CHOICE
When the three children entered the big living-room of the old log cabin, Ken was the first to notice that Dixie had been crying.
“I knew it, I just knew it!” the boy blurted out. “You’re sick or something, Dix. That’s why you looked so pale, and why you didn’t want to go for a walk like you always do Sunday afternoons.”
“No, Ken, it isn’t that,” the oldest girl said. “Get your hats off and come and sit here a while. I want to tell you all something.”
Dixie lifted little Jimmy-Boy and held him crushingly close. Then she hid her face among his thick yellow curls, that Ken might not see the rush of tears to her eyes, for she had suddenly thought, “The next thing I know, somebody will offer to take my baby away from me, but, oh, they can’t have him, not if I work my fingers to the bone to keep him!”
Luckily Ken remembered that the pig, three hens, the goat, and Pegasus must be fed before dark, and, as it was dusk, he hastened to the barnyard. Carol had climbed to the loft bedroom to put away her one treasure, a hat with a pretty flower-wreath on it, and so Dixie had time to dry the telltale tears before they returned.
“Fire ahead, Dix,” was Ken’s boyish way of announcing that he was ready to listen. He whirled a straight-backed chair about and straddled it as he spoke.