“I never will, honest,” said Content.
Presently they went into the house. Dr. Trumbull was there; he had been talking seriously to the rector and his wife. He had come over on purpose.
“It is a perfect absurdity,” he said, “but I made ten calls this morning, and everywhere I was asked about that little Adams girl's big sister—why you keep her hidden. They have a theory that she is either an idiot or dreadfully disfigured. I had to tell them I know nothing about it.”
“There isn't any girl,” said the rector, wearily. “Sally, do explain.”
Dr. Trumbull listened. “I have known such cases,” he said when Sally had finished.
“What did you do for them?” Sally asked, anxiously.
“Nothing. Such cases have to be cured by time. Children get over these fancies when they grow up.”
“Do you mean to say that we have to put up with big sister Solly until Content is grown up?” asked Sally, in a desperate tone. And then Jim came in. Content had run up-stairs.
“It is all right, mother,” said Jim.
Sally caught him by the shoulders. “Oh, Jim, has she told you?”