“And of course I’ve been away,” sighed Barbara.
“Well, she must go away now,” said Dr. Grafton, with determination. “A complete rest and change she must have, as soon as possible. And Barbara, my girl, you’ll have to take the helm.”
“Oh, I will,” she cried confidently. “I can and will gladly. I won’t let it crush me. I’ll reduce it all to a science.”
“H’m,” said her father. “This science is not taught at Vassar. However, I don’t see what else we can do. And your mother must go at once.”
Barbara lost her sense of the logical continuity of events during the next few days. Packing, planning, consoling small brothers, encouraging her mother, who was inclined to rebellion,—the minutes and hours flew. Before she realized, she stood one morning on the front porch with her arms around the sobbing Kid, resolutely forcing a smile, while she waved a cheerful farewell to the departing phaeton, containing a very pale mother and a very determined-looking father.
“Good-by, mother dear!” called little David, winking away his tears. “Come back soon.”
“Come back well!” added Barbara, cheerfully.