“I want to thank you for all those nice books you sent. Miss Simpson is reading ‘Tom Sawyer’ to me now, and it’s very interesting.”
“Tom had some fine adventures, didn’t he?” said Jerry, eagerly. He was very glad to steer the conversation safely away from the subject of tears. “I wish we could be lost in a cave, and go for pirates.”
“I don’t,” declared Geraldine, with conviction. “I think one adventure is quite enough for any person to have, and I’ve given Mother a solemn promise never to frighten her again, and I mean to keep my word.”
“Gretel had a bigger adventure than any of us,” said Jerry, not without a shade of envy in his tone. “It must have been awfully exciting to get knocked down by a trolley car, and be taken to a hospital in an ambulance, only I shouldn’t like to have to stay in bed for such a long time afterwards.”
“But I didn’t go away to have an adventure,” said Gretel, reddening; “I went because—because—”
“We know,” said Geraldine; “Mrs. Douane told Mother, and she told us. She talked about it for a long time one night after we’d said our prayers.”
“Did she think I was a very dreadful person?” inquired Gretel, rather tremulously. “I’m afraid people won’t ever like me any more when they know how wicked I was, even though Percy and Barbara have forgiven me, and say they love me just the same.”
“Mother doesn’t think you at all wicked,” protested Geraldine; “that isn’t the reason why she talked to us. She thinks you were very brave to confess the way you did, and she hopes we should be just as brave if we ever did anything naughty that nobody knew about but ourselves.”
“Did your mother really say that?” demanded Gretel, her face brightening. “You aren’t making it up just to make me feel comfortable?”
“We don’t tell things that aren’t true,” returned Geraldine, indignantly, and Jerry added—“Mother truly did say it, and a lot more, too. She’s awfully fond of you, and so is Father. They were dreadfully worried when they thought you were—I mean when you were so ill.”