'None the worse, I am glad to say,' Beryl answered, and then I thought to myself I might have guessed it, by Beryl's bright face. 'I really think it was only the fog that made her cough so last night. She looks a very delicate little girl, however, and she speaks of having had a very bad cold not long ago, which may have been something worse than a cold. So I made her stay in bed for breakfast, till——'
At that moment the parlour-maid brought in a telegram. Beryl opened it, and then handed it to me. It was from mamma.
'A thousand thanks for telegram and letter. Coming myself by earliest train possible.'
'It's very good of mamma,' I said, and in my heart I was glad she was coming before we—or I—saw papa. For though he is very kind too, he is not quite so 'understanding,' and a good deal sharper, especially with us boys. I suppose fathers need to be, and I suppose boys need it more than girls.
'Yes,' said Beryl, and though she had been so awfully jolly about the whole affair, I could tell by her tone that she was glad that some one belonging to us was coming to look after us all. 'It is very satisfactory. My aunt said she would come round early too. I think it will be quite safe for Margaret to get up now, so I will go and tell her she may. You will find some magazines and picture-papers in my little sitting-room, behind this room, if you can amuse yourselves there till auntie comes.'
I stopped her a moment as she was leaving the room, to ask what I knew Peterkin was longing to hear.
'Mamma will take us home, of course,' I said, 'but what do you think will be done about Margaret?'
'They—' whom he meant by 'they' I don't know, and I don't think he knew himself—'they won't send her back to the witch, you don't think, do you?' he burst out, growing very red.
Beryl hesitated. Then she said quietly—
'No, I don't think so,' and Peterkin gave a great sigh of relief. If she had answered that she did think so, I believe he would have broken into a howl. I really do.