“Let them come,” said Jack, “and Charles and I will advance to the onslaught, and deliver David from the attacks of the enemy. Plums, chicken-broth—even quail—let them continue to flow in abundantly, and fail to mention to Auburn that David is not an ostrich.”
“I guess Mrs. Willowby understands,” observed Gassy, impersonally. “She asked me if David enjoyed the wine jelly she sent yesterday, and I said I didn’t know, but that Jack said it was the best he had ever tasted.”
“Thunder!” exclaimed Jack, turning very red. “Gassy, you do bear away the palm for unpalatable honesty. Why is it, I wonder, that every really honest person is disagreeable, too?”
“Letters!” said Dr. Grafton, reappearing opportunely. “Two for you, Barbara, one from your mother, marked ‘Personal,’ and the other postmarked New York. David, how would you like to see your mother again?”
The little boy looked up and smiled at his father. “I wish she’d come,” he said. “She’s never seen me since I was a sufferer from India. I was a balloon when she left.”
“Well, you will soon have a chance to show her how fast you are getting well,” replied the doctor, smiling. “I wrote her the whole story of last month, the other day, since she is so much stronger, and here is her answer. She will be at home at six o’clock this very afternoon.”
The children all exclaimed at once, even Gassy, who threw her arms around Jack’s neck and hugged him, quite forgetting her usual self-repression, and his recent thrust at her honesty.
“Hurray!” cried Jack, joyfully, escaping from Gassy and twirling a small chair in air. “It seems too good to be true.”
Barbara said nothing. She glanced at her father, who returned her look with one of understanding. They were both thinking of the home-coming as it might have been.
“I forget about mother, some,” remarked the Kid. “Was she as nice as Barbara?”