Margaret skipped to the big writing desk and returned with the requested materials. “And while you think about it, Virg and I will prepare for the feast.” They brought Virginia’s work table from her room and spread it with a dainty lunch cloth and put Margaret’s red blossoms in the center. “I don’t see what Malcolm can be writing,” Virginia said. “He ought only to have eggs on toast or something like that.” But when a moment later she looked at the paper which the lad gaily presented, she said, “Why Malcolm Davis, you’ve ordered everything that you ought not to have. Creamed oysters, of all things!”
“Perhaps they wouldn’t hurt him,” interceded Margaret. “And you know the thing you have a hankering for is supposed to be what you need.” Then clapping her hands girlishly, she exclaimed, “Oh Virg, please say that we may have them. I’ll get the chafing dish out of my trunk. You know what fun we had in school with it. Then you get two cans of oysters, the milk, butter and seasoning, and we can prepare it all right here on the table. Wouldn’t that be jolly?”
Virginia agreed that it would. Then she prepared the toast while Margaret, flushed and happy because she could do something for her beloved guardian, stirred up the cream sauce and dropped in the oysters. Malcolm, leaning back in solid comfort, watched and admired. At last he commented, “Did ever a chap in all the world have two such sisters to take care of him!”
There was a sudden twinge in the heart of Margaret. What could it mean? Surely she was glad, glad to have the splendid Malcolm call her “sister.” There was a note of tender wistfulness in her voice, which she herself did not know when she replied, “We would do anything, give up anything, Oh, it doesn’t matter what, if it would add to your happiness, Brother Malcolm.” Almost unconsciously the girl was thinking of the time that would surely come when someone, perhaps now unknown to them, would take in his life a place closer than that of sister.
“Toast’s ready! How about the creamed oysters?” Virginia looked up from the hearth where she had been kneeling.
“It’s done to a turn.” Megsy’s voice was merry once more. Then Virg put the buttered slices of toast on each plate, and Margaret placed dainty portions of the creamed oysters on them.
Malcolm ate with greater relish than he had since he had been ill or rather exhausted, for he had no definite malady, just extreme weariness. When he asked for a second portion, he pretended to look imploringly at Virginia as though he feared she would say, “You have had sufficient for tonight.” And, indeed, maybe she might have said something of the kind, but Margaret was refilling his plate and it was too late to protest.
When the dainty little meal was over and the small table had been carried away, Malcolm smiled contentedly at the two girls, who sank into nearby chairs, the light from the fire falling on their faces. For a time they were silent, each thinking his or her own thoughts. At last Malcolm said, “Virg, are they worth the proverbial penny?”
The girl looked up brightly. “I was wondering how we are to convey Eleanor’s invitation to Babs and Peyton,” she replied. “I do hope that they can accompany us.”