“It’s too bad, indeed,” returned Barbara, cheerfully. “But remember how we were helped when David was ill; and think how Mrs. Willowby gave up her own maid to us for so long, and of all that Susan did. I’m so happy over David that I don’t mind cooking nowadays. And you are a nice little assistant, Gassy.”
The nice little assistant glowed with pleasure. “Know why?” she inquired.
“No; why?”
“Hair!” replied Gassy, laconically. “Hair and clothes. You were pretty good to me that dreadful day when the hair went, and you make me look so much nicer. I like you very much, Barbara,”—Gassy never used the word “love,”—“and I don’t think college has hurt you one bit, no matter what Miss Bates says. It’s just as Jack says,—your A. B. stands for A Brick, instead of A Bachelor.”
“Did he say that?” said Barbara, laughing at the unexpected conclusion, as she leaned over and patted the stiff little shoulder near her.
“You’re a dear little sister,” she said. “Who’s that?”
A loud knock had sounded at the door.
“Come in!” called Barbara.