"Well, put her down now, do," said practical Edith. "We want you downstairs. Luncheon is nearly ready."
"I can't yet," said Ruth. "Every time I start to leave her she cries, and won't let me. Isn't it odd of the little creature? You two go on down. I'll be with you as soon as I can."
Later that afternoon we continued the discussion that Ruth had interrupted. Oliver didn't seem to be any more reconciled to the arrangement than before.
"I hate to break the home all up," he objected. "I want to keep the children together. Madge does, too. I should think there ought to be some one who likes children, and who wants a home, who could come and help me out for six months, who wouldn't cost too much."
"Hired help! No, no. Never works," Tom said, shaking his head.
"You have to be away so much on business, you know, Oliver," I reminded.
Suddenly Ruth spoke, picking up a magazine and opening it. "How would I do, instead of the hired help, Oliver?" she asked, casually glancing at an advertisement. "Becky didn't seem to mind me."
"You!" echoed Malcolm.
"Why, Ruth!" I exclaimed.
"What in the world do you mean?" demanded Edith.