“Charlotte, my dear, you really are unreasonable,” said Mrs Waldron. “I thought you were grateful to this young girl, as we all are, for her kindness to Jerry. You told me yourself that you would never again say she was spoilt, or selfish, or any of the terrible things you had made up your mind she must be.”
“I know I did,” said Charlotte half penitently. “I did not mean to speak that way; but oh, mamma, it makes me wild to think about Jerry—he does look so white and thin?” She got up as she spoke, and went across the room on tip-toe, and stood for a moment looking down at the sleeping boy, her eyes filling with tears. “Mamma,” she said again as she returned to her mother, “we must manage it.”
But two or three days went by without any solution to the problem offering itself. Mr Waldron was exceedingly busy just at this time, and his wife shrank from saying much to him about what was constantly in her thoughts, till she had some at least possible plan to suggest. At last one night a sudden idea struck her.
“I will write to Mrs Knox,” she thought; “she may know of some place, some kind of pension, perhaps, or some doctor’s family, where Jerry would be well cared for, on pretty moderate terms. And once we hear of such a place we just must find the money somehow,”—and her mind ran over the few treasured pieces of silver plate in their possession,—“and Edward must take him there. Only will he not be terribly home-sick, alone among strangers?”
But Charlotte agreed that it seemed the only thing to do. The letter to Mrs Knox was written, and that evening after dinner Mr Waldron, his wife decided, must be told of all Dr Lewis had said. Dinner-time drew near, however, and instead of Mr Waldron there came a boy from his office with a note to say that he was not to be waited for; he had been detained unexpectedly, but would be home before long.
“How unlucky,” sighed Mrs Waldron. “I cannot send the letter without talking to your father, and he will come home so tired. Arthur,” for Arthur as well as Charlotte was in her confidence, “can you manage to keep Ted and Noble quiet in the school-room so that I can speak to your father uninterruptedly? Tell them he will be tired, and will like to be quiet.”
“All right, mother; I’ll see to it,” and a moment or two later certain ominous sounds from the school-room announced that Arthur was favouring his younger brothers with a specimen of certain strong measures he intended to resort to, should occasion arise, such as their “kicking up a row or making fools of themselves when mamma wanted to be quiet.”
He achieved his purpose, however. Mrs Waldron was alone, and the house was unusually silent when their father came in; he went straight to the drawing-room.
“You must be very tired, Edward,” said Mrs Waldron, starting up, “and hungry too. You have not had dinner.”
“Yes, thank you; I have had all I want,” he replied. “Tea then, or coffee?”