“In the first place, Mrs. Carter’s daughter Alice.”
“My only child,” added Mrs. Carter, averting her face.
“And with her was Miss Lucy Poythress, daughter of a valued neighbor of mine.”
“Little Laura’s sister,” explained Mrs. Carter.
“Yes,” said the Don, with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling.
“And my friend Jack Whacker, whom I have long—in default of other—looked upon as a younger brother. So you see that when we come to speak of obligation, the boot is on the other—”
“Don Miff, here tums Molly with my bekfuss,” chirped little Laura, skipping into the room.
“Ah,” said Mrs. Carter, rising, “I must send you yours, Mr. Smith. Mr. Frobisher, you may leave your patient to Molly and Laura; so join us at breakfast. No; we will let Mr. Whacker sleep after his vigils as long as he can. Now, Laura, you must take good care of Mr. Smith.”
That morning Mary, as was her wont, came across the street to inquire after the Don, and found the family lingering around the breakfast-table; and the girls had hastened to tell her of the improved condition of the patient. Mr. Carter and Charley had lit their pipes, and there was a lively clatter of female voices.
“Girls,” said Mrs. Carter, rising, “I am going upstairs now to look after our invalid, and I think I shall have some news for you when I come down.”