“Why, the poor little things!” she exclaimed when he had finished. “We must send for them, George, and provide them with a better home, either here or elsewhere. I never thought the Cootes could be so cruel.”
“No, nor I. The letter came this morning. My brother and I were roused to indignation by its perusal, and he has gone for the children—will have them here, I confidently expect, sometime this afternoon.”
“They shall be welcome,” she returned. “Fortunately Mrs. Wood is fond of children, and I dare say, being two years older, and having been so cowed and kept down, they will be much more easily managed than they were before.”
“Yes, I hope so; and you need have no trouble whatever with them; our good housekeeper and Dorothy can certainly do all that is needed. Will you order the necessary preparations, or shall I?”
“I do not want to take too much of your valuable time,” she replied, “so, if you like to trust Mrs. Wood and me, I will talk matters over with her and get her to do what is necessary.”
“Very well, then, I will go at once to Augusta with the news, that she, too, may have time for needed preparations.”
He found Augusta in her dressing room, the older three of her daughters and Dorothy Dean engaged in examining fashion plates and discussing weighty questions in regard to what materials they should purchase for their fall dresses, and in what style they should have them made up.
“Ah, I see I am interrupting a solemn council,” said Mr. Eldon with playful look and tone, “but do not be too much distressed; I shall take but a very few minutes of your precious time, my own being equally valuable.” With that he opened and read aloud Ethel’s letter.
All present seemed excited to indignation, Dorothy perhaps the most of any.
“The poor little things!” she exclaimed. “Uncle, do have them brought here at once, even if we must take the whole four.”