Dorothy's face kindled.
"It would be for me," she agreed. "I've never been where there was any one belonging to me, and—well, that would be a 'happy ending'!"
"Where was Aunt Louise planning to go for the winter?"
"I don't know that she had any plans. She hadn't the last time we talked about it, but that was a long time ago—way back at the time of the fire."
"Why can't you both go home with us? We're going in a day or two, you know."
"Mother's engagement at the art store doesn't end until the first of September. She wouldn't leave them in the lurch."
"No, it wouldn't be right," murmured Helen; "but I want her to rest just as soon as she can."
"She is tired," assented Dorothy, thinking as she answered how much more tired her mother was than any of the Morton cousins could understand. The wear of constant anxiety about bread and butter and shelter is something beyond the understanding of those who have not experienced it. It had made Dorothy older than her years and had turned her mother's hair snow-white at forty-two.
"If only you live in Rosemont," said Ethel Brown, "we can go to school together. Ethel Blue and I have been almost like twins. If you are with us all the time we'll be triplets."
"Oh!" cried Dorothy, clasping her hands.