Mary had been very, very quiet; but at this—"O Mother, Mother! don't—don't take the babies away from me," she wailed. "I can't b—bear that! I d—d—don't see how—I can—l—let you and Father—g—go, but oh! d—don't t—t—take the b—babies away from m—m—me! Aunt Mandy—a—and Liza will—t—take good care of them, a—and I will h—help; oh!—I will, I will! I d—don't care wh—what Uncle s—s—says! I d—don't care if I n—n—never learn—a—anything! I don't care if—I gr—grow up to b—be a d—dunce! I'm going—t—to help—t—take care of the b—b—babies!"
"Darling, darling! there, there! You will make yourself ill again! Listen to Mother a moment!"
Mrs. Selwyn was really alarmed, for never before had the child given way to such an outburst. She knew that Mary felt things more deeply than do most children of her age, and had dreaded the hour when she should be obliged to tell her the sad news. She saw that the little girl was much weaker after her illness than she had thought. By degrees, she quieted her, and then resolved to appeal to her generous nature.
"Of course, dear, Father will go alone to Italy rather than have you make yourself ill again. He loves you so much that he would suffer loneliness and many other things all his life if by so doing he could keep you well and happy. If Mother goes with him, she must take the babies. They are too young to be left with even so good a nurse as dear old Aunt Mandy. But I am going to let you decide whether I shall go or stay. I know that will be very, very hard for you to do, because you are not selfish; and I am perfectly sure of what your answer would be if you were a little stronger. I know my little bluebird too well to doubt it. But if you really feel that you cannot do without Father and Mother and the babies and Aunt Mandy—for, of course, I shall need her—you must not fear to tell me so. Now, I am going to put you to bed and give you some broth; and then I shall go away for a little while to let you have time to think."
The frail little arms went round her neck as Mary whispered, "No, no, Mother, I don't need time to think. I know now. I will stay," she gulped hard, "with Uncle. I'm sorry—I was so selfish and horrid, and that I said I wouldn't mind Uncle. I will, Mother, everything he tells me. But—but I'll just have to cry a little bit now."
CHAPTER XI.
WELCOME VISITORS.
When the Doctor went up to Mary's room after luncheon to make his usual visit, he found a very quiet little girl waiting for him. His sister had told him no more than was necessary of the scene an hour earlier, so that he was more than surprised to find the child in bed and oh, so tired!
"I fear that you stayed up too long this morning, little one. Better take a nap and not try to sit up again to-day. You are going to have company this afternoon. Can you guess who it is?"