"What is the use of my seeing her? Your father is the one to decide."
"I will ask father to stay in after supper."
"I don't think he will. A message has come from the Watson people over at the farm. Mrs. Watson was taken bad with a stitch an hour ago, and they want your father as quickly as he can go."
"Well, he will be back in time—he won't spend the whole evening there. Anyhow, Dorothy can come and see you, and if father does come in before she leaves, well and good. I may run and tell her to come, may I not?"
"Won't you put the children to bed first, and bring me baby?"
"Oh, yes, yes, if you insist."
"I do, Effie; while you are at home you must help me all you can. I have not had a bit of strength since baby was born. It is perfectly dreadful to feel all your strength going and to know that things are at sixes and sevens, and however hard you try you cannot put them right. Dear me, Effie, I did think when you were grown up that you would stay at home and be a comfort to me."
"I shall be a greater comfort to you when I send you money from London. Now, don't speak another word. I will put the children to bed, and I will look after baby myself, while you close your eyes and go to sleep."
Effie pressed her warm young lips on the older woman's brow, and then ran out of the room.
There was a large nursery upstairs, where everything at the present moment was, as Effie's mother had said, at sixes and sevens. The nursemaid, a young girl of seventeen, was not up to her duties—the children ruled her, instead of her ruling the children. Effie, however, could be masterful enough when she liked. She had a natural sense of order, and she soon put things straight in the nursery. The children were undressed quickly and put to bed; and then Effie, taking the baby in her arms, asked Susan to go downstairs.