Kiss the babes for me, and tell your father that I can’t and won’t stay away much longer. Much love from
Mother.
Barbara read the letter aloud to Gassy on one of the hottest of the August days. Then she drew the little sister into her arms and kissed her,—a long-drawn kiss in which was expressed relief and joy and gratitude. Gassy understood, and nestled close with a happy little croon.
“Won’t it be nice to have her back, Barbara?” she whispered. “It’s been awful lonesome without her! If it hadn’t been for you, I couldn’t have stood it.” Then, ashamed of her unwonted show of affection, she drew herself out of her sister’s lap, saying in her stiff little voice, which had been heard less frequently of late, “It’s too hot to kiss!”
“There’s another letter, too,” said Barbara; “I don’t know whether I’d better open it or not. It’s addressed to mother, but I think it is from Aunt Sarah.”
Gassy made a grimace. “Better open it, then. It won’t hold any good news.”
“I’m afraid I must; Aunt Sarah doesn’t know that mother is away from home. I hope it isn’t descriptive of any more family broils. If it is, I shan’t forward it.”
“Prob’ly she’s going to make us a visit,” said Gassy.
A horrible foreboding of what Gassy’s prediction would mean swept over Barbara. It was succeeded by a still more horrible sensation as she read the letter:—