"How could I, dear? Your home is here. And you like Dr. Callandar, don't you?"
"I used to. But he never plays with the pup any more. He's different. And you're different and mother's different. I don't want to live with mother. That was a fib I told you the other day about the cut on my head. I didn't fall and hurt it. It was mother She threw her clothes brush at me."
"Jane!" There was pure horror in her sister's voice.
"Yes, she did. I went into her room when she was taking some medicine in a glass and I asked her what it was. Honest, Esther, that is all I did. And she screamed at me—and threw the brush."
Esther came back into the room and sat down.
"When was this?" in businesslike tones.
Jane considered. "It was that day she wasn't down stairs at all, and sent word to Dr. Callandar not to come—three days ago I think."
"Yes, I remember. O Janie dear, it looks as if things were going to be bad again! It must have been one of her very bad headaches. She was probably in great pain. Of course she did not mean to throw the brush Are you sure it was medicine she was taking?"
"It was something in a glass," vaguely, "she was mixing it—look out,
Esther! You are spoiling your new gloves."
The girl threw the crumpled gloves aside and drawing the child to her knee kissed her gently.