Brentwood (Romance Classic). Grace Livingston Hill

said Marjorie. "Here it is, Ted." She placed a bowl on the box and brought the thermos bottle. "There's coffee too, and a plate of sandwiches." She set the things before him.

      "Gosh!" said Ted, dumbfounded. "Where did you get all this layout?"

      "You don't know what's happened since you left, Theodore Gay! A miracle has come, that's what!" said Betty. "We've got another sister, and she's just like Santa Claus. She did it all!"

      "Gosh!" said Ted, wrinkling his nice mahogany brows, "but I don't think we ought to take it."

      "Well," said Betty, "I thought so too, but I found out it was a choice between that, and dying, and she seemed determined to die with us if we did, so I let her have her way. Sit down and eat that soup while it's hot. You'll be down sick next if you don't, and we can fight it out later when things get straightened out again. I'm so glad Mother and Father aren't so sick as I thought that I'm willing to take anything anybody hands me. But, Ted, you're mistaken about that egg beater. It was in the kitchen table drawer when you took it away to sell it. I missed it after you were gone."

      "Okay! I'll beat yer eggs with a fork!" said Ted, settling down on another box and diving into the bowl of soup. "Say, is this good! Or is it good!" he murmured, and then ate away in silence.

      "I'm going up to fix Father in the other room so he and Mother won't disturb each other," said Betty. "I'll be back for the egg and milk."

      "No, I'll bring it up when it's ready," said Ted.

      Marjorie got out the milk and eggs and fixed a tray. Ted eyed her silently.

      "How did you get a fire?" he growled out suddenly as he took a big bite from the sandwich.

      "Why—Father—" Marjorie brought out the name hesitantly, it was so new a name for a father she had never known—"Father came just as I was starting out to try and find the coal yard. He had two big bags in his arms, and he was dizzy. He had to sit down on the stairs."

      Ted suddenly put down the cup of coffee he was drinking and half rose.

      "Dad hasn't had a thing to eat!" he said horror stricken. "It was raining last night and he didn't go out to the mission to get his dinner! He said he wasn't hungry!"

      Ted had forgotten the new sister. He was talking aloud, accusing himself for having eaten when his father was hungry.

      "I'll take this right up to him! I ought to have thought."

      "No," said Marjorie putting out a protesting hand, "he has had plenty now. I went right up to the drugstore and got soup and coffee. But while I was gone he had insisted on going down cellar and starting the fire. He had matches and a patent kindler. Betty took some coffee down to him and then made him go up and lie down afterward."

      "That fire won't last long," said Ted wisely, "not on one bag of coal. I'd better go out and rustle some more. I've got one bucket full here, but it isn't very good, all partly burned. I mustn't let this house get cold again."

      "Oh, there's plenty of coal in the cellar now," said Marjorie happily. "The man said the bin would hold two tons so I got that. He's just got done putting it in. That will last a good while, won't it?"

      "Two tons!" the boy stood aghast. "How'll we ever pay for two tons? You didn't get that from our regular coal man? He said he wouldn't let us have any more till the bill was paid." He looked at her with accusing eyes, such young, frightened, stern eyes. She loved him for the way he was trying to be a man and take responsibility.

      "But it's all paid for, brother dear!" said Marjorie with shining eyes. "Bill and coal and all. I told him I would pay cash if he would send it at once, and he certainly did!"

      The boy looked at her astounded.

      "Gosh!" he said, and then he turned and ran down the cellar stairs. She could hear his footsteps, going over to the coal bin, then back to the furnace a few paces, opening the furnace door, looking in, closing it again, and then more slowly coming up the stairs. She glimpsed him brushing his hand quickly across his eyes as he appeared in the kitchen, his young face filled with relief.

      "Gosh, that's a break!" he said flinging himself down on the box again and reaching for what was left of his sandwich. "I never expected to see that much coal again, not in that cellar! I'll say you're some sister!"

      Marjorie smiled, her heart warming.

      "Will you have another sandwich?"

      "No, I mustn't eat things up. I can get along on what I've had. It's more than I've had at once in six months. Save the rest for Mother and the others."

      "But there is plenty," said Marjorie happily. "I got several loaves. And how about some scrambled eggs? I can make lovely scrambled eggs!"

      "You couldn't, not here!" said Ted with finality. "The gas company turned off our gas. You can't scramble eggs in the furnace, can you?"

      "Oh, but the gas company have been here and turned on the gas. See?" and she struck a match and lighted a burner. "There's no reason why you can't have scrambled eggs." Marjorie put on a bent little frying pan over the flame, flipped a bit of butter into it and broke three smooth brown eggs into it.

      Ted watched her fascinated as she scrambled the eggs, finishing with a shake of pepper and salt.

      "Say, you can cook, can't you? I thought you'd be too high-hat to cook."

      "I can cook a little," said Marjorie, "not much. Probably Betty can do much better than I. I never had a chance to practice much."

      "Well, neither had Betts. She's been in an office ever since she got out of school. Say! These eggs are great! Gosh, I haven't tasted anything so good in weeks. You're sure I ought to eat all of this? It seems enough for the whole family. Why, if we'd had this much yesterday we would have thought we were rich!"

      Marjorie felt a sudden lump coming into her throat that betokened tears near at hand. She felt so glad to have got here in time before her family starved to death! How awful to think they had been in such straits while she feasted on the fat of the land!

      He studied her for an instant and then he said gravely:

      "But we can't live off of you! It's great of you to help us out a little till we get on our feet, but we can't keep on letting you feed us. Perhaps I can get a job soon and pay you back."

      The brightness went out of Marjorie's face.

      "Listen, Ted, if I had lived here, and you had plenty, wouldn't you have shared it with me?"

      "Of course!" said Ted crossly, "but that's different! I'm a fella!"

      "Well, that's all right, 'fella' dear, but it isn't different. I'm a part of this family, unless you throw me out, and what's mine is yours. And now, come, I'd like to say a word about what you did to me when you first came in. You took that cup of tickets away and told me they wouldn't interest me. But they do interest me. They interest me very much. They're pawn tickets, aren't they? Well, what are we going to do about them, Ted? Are those Mother's things that she's fond of? Oughtn't we to go and get them?"

      "That would take a lot of money," said Ted hopelessly. "Yes, of course, they're her things, but we had to pawn them. She had to have food and heat and medicine."

      "Of course," said Marjorie, just as if she was used to going out and pawning her furniture and clothes whenever she had to have something else, "but are they things she cares about? Or would she rather have new things?"

      "They're her things. They're all the things she has. And she couldn't get new things even if she did want them. She can't get these either," he added dejectedly. "I tell you it costs a lot of money."

      "Yes, but how much, Ted?" persisted Marjorie. "That is what I was trying to find out when I was looking over those tickets. I wasn't wanting to pry. I was trying to find out what to do."

      "It isn't your responsibility," said Ted doggedly. "It's mine. I pawned them."

      "Now look here, Ted, you just stop pushing me out of the family like that. I'm trying to make up a little for all the good I might have