“Oh, we knew we could depend on you. Still, we’re awfully sorry. If you could, we’d like you to go on with some decent reading, and with your music—you’re such kids, to be leaving off studies altogether, and we hate it for you; but we quite realize that you won’t have much time. Sarah is to go after Christmas, and there will be loads for you to do, with Billy’s teaching thrown in, and we don’t want life to be all work for you.”
“We won’t make it all work,” said Mother gently. “We’ll try to have lots of fun mixed in.”
“Why, we couldn’t help it,” said Jean laughing.
“I know you’ll look after your mother,” said Mr. Weston. “I feel pretty desperate at letting Sarah go, for she’s a standby in everything, and she takes such care of Mother if she’s sick.”
“I decline to be sick—ever!” said Mother firmly. At which her husband ran his fingers through his hair, and looked at her with an air of desperation that would have been almost comical if it had not been so miserable.
“I’m afraid of that very thing,” he said. “You’ll hang on and hang on, long after you should give in, if you do get seedy. Sarah would know at a glance, and put you firmly to bed; but the girls and I won’t be as quick to see. If I were sure that you would be sensible, and take care of yourself, I wouldn’t be half so worried. But yourself is the one person about whom you haven’t any sense!”
“Now, don’t meet trouble half-way,” said Mrs. Weston. “We’re going to manage very comfortably, girls. I can get a good woman from the township for a day each week, for washing and rough cleaning, and the rest will be quite easy to us. And if I do feel sick, I promise to stay in bed and call loudly for nourishment. So——”
“Jean,” said Jo, “if I don’t tell I shall burst.”
“Me too,” said Jean.
“Then why don’t you tell?”