“Sure! Take care of the truck, will you?” He dropped his burdens to Jean’s willing hands, and darted forward.
Mr. Patton, who “placed” the refugees, was glad of Billy’s request, for the child’s struggle for self-control had touched him; and he knew no one would be a kinder mother to her than Mrs. Bennett.
Billy hurried away, and arrived at his home before the hack, bread and cream safe in spite of threatened dangers.
“Ma! Mamma Bennett,” he burst out as he banged open the door; “she’s coming,—our little earthquake girl! The cutest kid,—not so big as the twins, but stylisher in the face.”
Mrs. Bennett was setting the table. She put down a pile of plates, and a new anxiety came into her careworn face. “A child? I told Mr. Patton I couldn’t take one.”
“But I asked for her, mamma.” Billy’s voice lost its exuberance. His mother never had looked so tired, he thought for the second time that day.
“Oh, Billy, how could you, when mother has so much to do?” It was his sister, Edith, who spoke, her sweet face clouded with rare disapproval. Yet she went on with the music lesson she was giving.
“I’ll help a lot. You shan’t have a bit more trouble, sister; nor mamma, either.” He began to distribute the plates with noisy clatter.
“She’ll be afraid to sleep in the downstairs bedroom,” Mrs. Bennett reflected, planning rapidly for the unexpected child whom she still had no thought of turning from her door.
“Put her in my room and give me the Fo’castle; I’ve always wanted to bunk there.”