“One thing I intend to change, and that is having dinner at noon. It’s horribly unhygienic, and old-fashioned, too. I’ll speak to Ellen about it.”
She pulled open the door of the hall-closet to find a dust-cloth. A huddled pile of pink gingham, with two long, black legs protruding, lay prone upon the floor. The head was hidden.
Barbara put an arm about the place which seemed to mark a waist in the gingham. “What’s the matter, dear?” she asked tenderly.
There was a long-drawn breath, and an unmistakable snuffle. Then Gassy’s voice answered coldly,—
“Nuthin’.”
“Well, don’t lie in here in the dark. Come out with me, little sister.”
Gassy came, slowly and reluctantly. She rose from the floor, back foremost, keeping her face assiduously turned away from her sister.
“I don’t like to see you cry—”