"I certainly shall," declared their mother, firmly, "unless you tell me at once what is the matter," and she took another step toward the hall.
"I fretted about—" began Van.
"Not having any Christmas," said Percy, coming in as a finish. "O dear!"
"Oh, boys!"
"Don't look so, Mamma, don't!" implored Van, clutching her gown with desperate fingers.
"And I did, too," said Percy. His hands now seemed to have no comfort in his pockets, so he twisted them miserably together.
"You mean when you were coming home in the carriage?" asked Mrs. Whitney, a sorrowful little droop coming in her pretty mouth.
"Yes," said Van, his head hanging. "O dear me,"—he had hard work not to cry, but he wagged his head from side to side, and somehow kept the tears back,—"I did, anyway."
"Well, I did, too," said Percy, hastily; "that is, on the train. O dear!"
"Well, this is very bad," said their mother. But her voice was quite gentle, and she put her arm around each of them. "When we know how happy we ought to be that Jasper is really better, although he can't come home until after Christmas, how can we think of a holiday, and fret because we lose it?"