“You run along home, Mom,” said Jane, much as she would have spoken to one of the children. “I’ll be all right.”
Billy and Mom started back home, and Janie sank down on one of the big chairs. She looked at the inviting stacks of magazines that she had planned to read during the evening. It was cold and she was very sleepy. Mrs. Peters had said that she should find a lunch in the refrigerator, but she was too tired to be hungry. A hoot owl shrieked in the trees outside, and shivering, she wished that she hadn’t been so lofty in refusing Mom’s offer of company and assistance.
It was ten-thirty. How the time dragged. She went upstairs and peeked in at Sammy. He was sound asleep. Back down stairs again, she tuned in the radio, but there was nothing but the blare of dance bands, strident and unfamiliar. Her jaws ached with yawning. Would they never come home? She curled up at one end of the davenport, and pulled the afghan around her. It was so quiet she could almost hear the lapping of the waves on the shore. One by one, a few late cars whizzed by, but still the Peters didn’t come. Her head dropped lower and lower, and then with a jerk, she was awake again.
“Mustn’t go to sleep, Janie,” she said aloud. “Remember, you’re responsible here.”
She walked up and down for a while, but it made echoing sounds.
“Oh, dear. I wish I had let Mom stay.”
At last a car slowed down for the curve, and coasted into the Peters’ entrance. Janie flew to the door.
“Hello!” she called eagerly. “Hello!”
“Hi,” called the Peters pleasantly. “How is everything?”
“Fine, just fine,” said Janie in her relief to see them again.