Oswyth had sunk into her rocking-chair, the tears raining down her white cheeks. She held out her arms to Prue, who fled to them, very ready to be petted.
"Poor little Prue!" said Wythie. "And you were all alone to bear it. Poor, pretty little Prudy!"
Kiku, who was the most loving of little creatures, jumped up to rub his face against Rob's, not minding its wetness, and making soft, cooing sounds to her as if she were a kitten and he her cat-mother. The gentle, dumb, little creature comforted Rob more than spoken love could have done. She rolled over and kissed the cat between his pink-lined ears, and, seeing Wythie looking so grief-stricken, characteristically began to surmount her own trouble. "Now, doen't, doen't, my dear," she said, in the words of Ham Pegotty. "It's a blow that knocked me down for a minute, but I'm not going to lie prostrate long. We'll clear off the mortgage—Patergrey, the machine, and I—in a twinkling, and the little grey house shall be Greyer than ever."
Wythie shook her head, and at that moment they heard the front door shut and footsteps go down the walk. And in the hall their mother was saying: "There are those poor children upstairs alone; we must go comfort them, Sylvester."
There was no time to feign indifference before the door of the girls' room opened, and it was rather a dismal scene upon which Mr. and Mrs. Grey looked as they entered.
Mrs. Grey took Wythie and Prue into a comprehensive embrace, just as they sat. "Dearies, you must not grieve," she cried.
"Don't look so dismal, girls," said Mr. Grey, cheerfully. "The little grey house has merely lent the thin Grey man a thousand dollars, which he knows—doesn't think, mind you, but knows—he will soon repay. We are fortunate to get money when we need it so sorely, and we shall pay off that mortgage in a short time; isn't that true, Rob, my son?"
"That is true, Patergrey," responded Rob, loyally and promptly.