Then Ken had an inspiration. “I say, Jimmy-Boy,” he began, leaning over and peering into the tear-wet face that was half hidden on Dixie’s shoulder, “if you’ll eat every spoonful of your milk and porridge, Big Brother will let you ride on Pegasus and hold the reins all by your very own self.”
The dearest desire of the small boy was to reach that age when he would be considered old enough to sit, unsupported, upon the back of the gentle, jogging creature, hold the reins, and drive alone. Ken’s offer had been an inspiration, for the little fellow’s tears ceased, and his face, which Dixie kissed till it was rosy, beamed up at her with its sunniest smile. Then, once more in his high-chair, he fulfilled his share of the bargain by eating porridge to the very last mouthful.
Dixie glanced gratefully over at Ken, managing to say softly as she passed him on her way to the stove, “Stay very close to Pegasus when Jimmy takes his first ride, won’t you?” Then she added, as she noted an expression of reproach in her brother’s eyes, “Of course, Ken, I know that you would, anyway.”
Five minutes later the two boys, hand in hand, went outdoors to feed the “live-stock,” which consisted of a goat, Pegasus, the burro, Topsy and her kittens, the three little hens, and Blessing, the pig. As soon as the door closed behind them, Dixie went across the room and placed her hand on the bent head. “Sylvia,” she said kindly, “won’t you come to the table and have some breakfast?”
There was no response. The child curled up in the chair did not stir. Pity filled the heart of the older girl, and impulsively she knelt, and, putting her arm about the frail figure, she said tenderly: “Don’t grieve so hard, Sylvia. Your father told me your mother is sure to get well. You can go home again in two short weeks.”
Then the unexpected happened. The child lifted a face that was more angry than sorrowing, and sitting erect, she exclaimed vehemently, “I’m not crying about my mother. I’m crying ’cause I just hate my father. He’d no right to bring me to this poor folks’ cabin. My mother told him I was to be put in a boarding-school where children from the best families go. My mother don’t want me to associate with poor folks’ families. O dear! O dear! What shall I do?”
The sobbing began afresh, but there was a chill in the heart of the older girl, who, almost unconsciously, held herself proudly. “Well,” she said rather coldly, “since it’s only yourself you are pitying, I wish your father had taken you somewhere else, but he didn’t. He wanted you here with us, and so I suppose you will have to stay.”
Then she asked hopefully, “Sylvia, couldn’t you try to be happy here, for your father’s sake, just two little weeks? Won’t you try, dearie?”
“No, I won’t!” the pale, spoiled child snapped without looking up. “And I’m not going to stay, neither.”
Dixie sighed, and, turning, she started toward the ladder that led to the loft. Was Carol going to be as stubborn as Sylvia was, she wondered.