“Shut up, Japs,” said Roland. “You don’t deserve to be told, Leila. It’s a letter from Mother. She seems in very low spirits and—”
“She says we must help her to be brave,” interrupted Christabel, “and we don’t know what she means, and—”
“Chrissie,” interrupted Roland in his turn, but certainly with more right to do so, “be so good as to hold your tongue. The letter is to me, not to you.”
He glanced at it again. “Yes,” he said, “it looks as if there was something the matter.”
“Is that all?” said Leila. “I daresay it’s nothing much. P’raps she said ‘brave’ by mistake for ‘cheerful,’ for I suppose Dads is rather cut up about old uncle, though really we can’t be expected to mind much.”
In this sentiment apparently both Roland and Christabel agreed. Only Jasper murmured half to himself—
“I don’t like nobody to die. He used to pat my head, and he gave me five shillin’s on my birthday”; but to this modest tribute to poor old Uncle Percy’s memory there was no response.
“Oh, I daresay it’s all rubbish,” said Chrissie, having recourse to one of her favourite words. “Any way, it’s no good bothering beforehand. If there’s anything wrong we’ll know it soon enough, when Mums comes back on Monday.”
“Monday,” repeated Leila in surprise. “Is she coming as soon as that?”
“She says she has things to see to for Dads here,” said Roland, “and he’s got to stay up there for a bit.”