Miss Bates glared at him. “Barbara,” she said, “I don’t know why it is, but I get insulted by these children every time I put my nose into this house. Now I don’t want to complain, but I’ve a mind to tell you what Charles did to me last night. I was laying the table for supper, and I’d left the window open for air, and all of a sudden that child’s head was in the window, and he says, ‘Mercy on us, Birdine, is that all you’ve got for supper?’”
The Kid disappeared under the sofa like a whipped dog. Barbara closed her lips tight, to keep from smiling.
“Well, of course,” put in Gassy, “the Kid is always used to plenty of food, you see.”
Miss Bates glared again. “Is that why he wants to eat up my plums?” she inquired. “No, Barbara, I’ll take ’em back, since you won’t let David eat ’em. And I want to tell you now, that I don’t intend to come to this house again under any circumstances, since these children are so rude, till your ma comes home, no matter how long it is!”
“But she’s coming home to-day!” burst from both David and Gassy, in dismayed unison.
Miss Bates gave them a queer look, flashed a disdainful glance at Barbara, and left the house.
“It’s no use to scold you, Charles,” said Barbara, as she extricated the child from his hiding-place. “But I am glad that mother is coming to take the burden of your dreadful speeches. Now see if you can stay good until supper-time.”
She left the room to arrange the details of the feast, and as she passed through the hall, she came upon the letter marked “Personal” which she had left forgotten on the table.
“I declare!” said she, sitting down on the stairs again. “I believe I am going crazy with joy to-day. I have forgotten one thing after another.”