“Now, will you just be a sensible old thing and not talk rubbish!” Jean said, giving a final dab with her little sponge. “What do you think Mother would say to us if she came home and found you doing the work and looking like a demented ghost?”
“Demented I was beginnin’ to feel, an’ no mistake,” said poor Sarah wearily. “You really won’t do any more than you ’ave to, will you, me dears?”
“We won’t start cleaning the kitchen, if that’s what you mean,” said Jo, laughing. “Go to sleep, if you can, and forget about everything until you wake up better.” They tiptoed out, closing the door gently, and softly danced down the passage to the kitchen.
“ ‘Oh, we’re quite all right,’ Jo replied. ‘It’s really great fun, Father, and we’re enjoying it. And we do want to have things nice for Mother.’ ”
The Twins of Emu Plains] [Page 166
CHAPTER XIII
A JERSEY BULL
‟HOW’S Sarah?” demanded Mr. Weston, coming into the kitchen next morning with a bucket of milk in either hand.
“Well, she’s better,” Jean answered, turning from a pan of fried potatoes. “She says the neuralgia has quite gone. But you can see that she has had an awful night—the poor old soul is so white, with big black rings under her eyes. We couldn’t dream of letting her get up.”
“And she’s really too tired to fight us about it,” said Jo, who was compounding a stew. “She says she feels as if she could sleep all day, and of course it’s the best thing for her. So we’ve given her some tea and toast, and darkened her room, and we’re not going near her until dinner-time.”
“That’s right—sleep is probably all the treatment she needs,” Mr. Weston said. “But it’s a bit hard on you, twinses. Do you think you can manage?”