As for Judy and Jack, they noticed nothing of her abstraction. They were only amazed at the change in her. I found them discussing it in bed when I went out on the balcony to tuck them in.
“Never knew Mother so jolly,” said Jack. “Did you, Miss Earle? She was all smiling and int’rested—and generally about three minutes of us is all she can stick!”
“She looked so pretty, too,” Judy added. “Her eyes were all big and soft. Miss Earle, you do really think she’s better, don’t you?” The child put her hand out and drew me down beside her. “She—she made me frightened,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “You don’t think she’s going to be very ill, do you?”
“No, she isn’t,” I answered quickly—not very sure of my own voice. “She’s really ever so much better: in a few days she will be up. Mother has had a great deal of worry for a long time, old Fellow-Members, and now I hope that worry has gone.”
Jack made a spring across from his bed and snuggled down beside Judy and me.
“Miss Earle—was the worry something to do with—with the job we helped you with last night?”
“Yes, it was. But you aren’t going to ask questions.”
“No, of course not. But I just wanted to know that much. It wasn’t any harm just to ask that, was it?”
“No, indeed it wasn’t, old man. You earned that, you and Judy.”
“I’m glad I know,” Judy said. “Will the worry ever come back! I do hope it won’t, ’cause I’d love Mother to stay like she is now.”