"But the potatoes will bring in some money, won't they?" urged Rosemary, who now knew a great deal about the Gay finances.
"They will, if they're not all sunburned, before Alec gets them into the barn," responded Louisa gloomily, pouring hot water over a pan of dishes. "Last year the yield was poor, too. Ken and Jim try to help, but neither Alec nor I can bear to keep such little boys working in the hot sun all day long. It isn't right."
Louisa was not given to complaint and Rosemary guessed something of the pressure the slender shoulders must be enduring.
"I wish I had a million dollars!" burst out Rosemary, putting her arm about Louisa. "I'd give it all to you!"
To her distress, Louisa began to cry. She was standing near the kitchen table and she just put her head down on her arms and "let go" as Rosemary later told her brother. Shirley, who had ventured to leave the cradle, after several cautious tests to determine the depth of June's slumbers, peered in aghast. Rosemary motioned to her to go on and Shirley dashed out into the sunshine, glad to escape.
"You're so sweet to me!" choked Louisa, raising her tear-stained face. "And you're so pretty—I never saw a girl as pretty as you are. I wish I could look the way you do and have the clothes you do!"
So the faded dress had had something to do with it, after all.
Rosemary had always taken her pretty summer frocks for granted. Now she looked from her own blue and white gingham to Louisa's old dress and remembered the freshly-ironed linens and ginghams hanging in her closet. Not many, perhaps, but dainty and pretty, every one, and neither old-fashioned nor faded.
"I wish you'd let me give you a couple of mine," said Rosemary impulsively. "We're almost the same size and you would look so nice in blue, Louisa. I wouldn't tell a single soul."
Louisa dried her eyes and reached for the dish mop.