“Yes, father.”
News traveled fast in Auburn, and before the children had returned from school, two visitors had cleared some of the difficulties from Barbara’s path. The first was Mrs. Willowby, who stopped at the door to tell Barbara that Gassy and the Kid were to be provided with a temporary home. “I am on my way to school now,” she said; “and I’ll explain it to them, and will take them home with me this noon. If you can get together what clothing they will need, I’ll send Michael over for it this afternoon. You know what a happiness it will be to me to do anything for your mother’s children, and I’ll try to mother them enough to keep them contented. In the mean time, dear, we are all at your service.”
As Mrs. Willowby’s carriage left the door, Susan came hurrying up the walk, a covered plate in her hand, and her face alive with sympathy. She caught Barbara’s face and drew it down to her own, using the childish name for her which had been dropped since college days. “Dear old Bobby,” she said. “I’ve just heard about.”
Barbara’s face relaxed and the tears began to gather.
“I’ve come to stay,” said Susan, in a practical voice, which brought more relief than pity would have done. “That is, to stay as long as you need me. David may be all right in a day or two, and then I’ll only be in the way. But in the mean time, I’m going to be Bridget.”
“Oh, no,” protested Barbara.
“Oh, yes,” mocked Susan. “You’ll have enough on your hands with all the extra cares, let alone the cooking. You must save a part of yourself for David, if he needs you. I don’t expect to do as well as you have been doing, if Auburn gossip is to be trusted, but I shan’t poison your family during your absence from the kitchen.”
“I can’t let you do it,” said Barbara. “You ought not to take so much time away from home. What would your family do without you?”