The injustice of it was almost more than Carol could bear, and her natural inclination was to angrily retort and tell the unwelcome guest just how “mean-horrid” she really was, but that wouldn’t be playing the game, and so, with a quick glance across at Dixie, who returned an encouraging smile, Carol silently repeated the formula which her big sister had suggested before they had left the loft: “What would I do or say if I really loved Sylvia?” What, indeed? How would Sylvia receive her advances? Would the spoiled little girl fly into a temper, or would she be kind?
With a long breath, the small girl said, “I’m sorry, Sylvia, if you really think that I broke your big doll. I wouldn’t have done it, not for anything.”
Then, as Dixie was serving the porridge, Carol asked, “Won’t you come over to the table and have breakfast with us?”
“No, I won’t,” was the ungracious response. “I’m going to starve right here in this very chair, and then I guess my father will be sorry be brought me to this poor folks’ cabin.”
Dixie, hearing this cruel retort, glanced anxiously across at her little sister, whose cheeks were burning, while her violet-blue eyes flashed. Would she be able to play the game after that, the big sister wondered.
Six months before the small girl would have informed Sylvia that she was a descendant of James Haddington-Allen of Kentucky, who was “blue-blooded.”
Before Carol could decide just how to reply, the sweet voice of her sister called her: “Come, dear, breakfast is ready! We’ll keep the porridge warm, and Sylvia may have some nice rich cream and sugar on her share when she feels real hungry.”
Then the two little Martin girls seated themselves at the table, and Carol felt well repaid for the effort she had made when she felt Dixie’s hand clasp hers just for a moment. Anger left her heart. What did it matter what Sylvia said or thought since Ken and Dixie and Jimmykins loved her?
When breakfast was over, the boys returned from feeding the “live-stock,” and then all was hurry and scurry while the little mother got them off to school. Their unwelcome guest had turned the big chair so that the high wooden back hid her from their view, but at the door Carol paused to call, “Good-by, Sylvia.” There was no response from across the room, but Dixie caught her little sister and kissed her, whispering gratefully: “Thank you, dear. You are such a help.” Then the door closed, and Dixie was left alone with the rebellious guest.