“Oh, he’s plum nutty an’ thinks he’s Billy Sunday—Billy Nut Sunday!” and Bobby danced gleefully in his squshy shoes.
“Bobby! Behave yourself!” said Douglas, trying to swallow the laugh she was in the midst of.
“We was jes’ a-talkin’ about you,” said Bobby, with his most disarming smile.
“About me?” and the young fellow choked his engine.
“Yes, I was a-tellin’——”
But here Helen took her little brother in hand. Helen could usually manage him better than any of the others. She whispered some mysterious something to him which quickly sobered him.
“I don’t want you to think I am impertinent or interfering, but your little brother told me on the train coming out that your mother and father were both ill——”
“Yes, I told him they were likely to die mos’ any time.”
“And I heard at the post-office at Preston, where I live, that you have rented the farm from the Misses Grant; also that those ladies were not expecting you until tomorrow——”