Alicia leaped from her chair and came yearning toward me. Her little face tremulous and working, she cried out:
"Oh, Mr. Byrd, you won't send us away—to a Home—will you?"
"No, no!—Not to a Home," I replied defensively. "But schools—there must be good places for children—"
"They'd feel terribly," she stifled a sob. "They love it so here—Even here Laura cries for her mother every night—and little Jimmie—"
"Never mind," I took her up hastily, "nothing is decided yet, my dear child. I'm glad I spoke to you. You see," I ran on, "there's so little room here, and I—I know nothing about children—"
"But there's nothing to do," she protested, sobbing.
"Nothing?" I smiled vaguely in an effort to cheer her and laid my hand upon her thin shoulder.
"Nothing except just love them," she said. "I'll take care of them—all I can." How simple!
"Well, well, we shall see," I aimed to be reassuring.
"Do I have to go—back to the Home?" she asked brokenly, with an arm hiding her face.