Brentwood (Romance Classic). Grace Livingston Hill

said Ted. "Who told you that?"

      "Miss Baker! She said we'd haveta take 'em home. She said they couldn't do—a thing 'ith Sunny since Bonnie got sick. They said—" he was still puffing and panting from his run—"they said—they hadta—have the beds—fer the—little kids. They got too many—an' ours gotta come home now."

      "Okay, you come with me, Kid. We'll get 'em," said Ted, "but I don't know what we'll do with 'em here. Gosh! Can you beat it?" He cast an apologetic eye at the new sister.

      "What is it?" she asked puzzled. "Who are they?"

      "The kids!" answered the brother in astonishment. "Didn't you know about them?"

      "No!" said Marjorie. "Oh, I remember, Betty said something when I first came about taking the children somewhere, but I had forgotten about it. I didn't realize there were more of us."

      "Two besides Bud!" said Ted lifting his chin maturely and sighing. "I don't know how we're going to make the grade with any more sick folks."

      Marjorie gave a little gasp of amazement and then her soft lips set firmly.

      "We'll manage!" she said. "I'll go with you to get them. I can carry one of them."

      The boy Bud was standing now gazing at her in a kind of distress.

      "Who's that?" he ejaculated pointing to Marjorie, his eyes wide with a kind of fear. "Where's Betty? That's not Betty."

      "No," said Ted, "she's the new sister. Did you have any lunch, Bud?"

      "Naw. They wouldn't give me any. They said I didn't belong. They said I was too big to be there and I couldn't come tamorra. And anyhow I hate 'em. They kep' tellin' me I oughtta be in school."

      "Well, don't worry. You don't havta go again. We've got a fire now."

      "Gee! It feels good!" said the child rubbing his red cold hands together. "I'm gonta stand over the register. Say, gimme a little piece of bread, can't ya? I'm holler!"

      "You poor child!" exclaimed the new sister in horror. "Wait. I'll make him a sandwich before I go. It won't take a minute!"

      "Who said sandridge?" said Bud. "Not honest? Gee! Where'dya get the ham? Real ham!"

      He watched with shining eyes and grabbed the sandwich eagerly, too hungry to wait for an answer to his question, accepting the new sister quite casually, as being not nearly so important as the sandwich to his poor starving little stomach.

      "Do you like ham?" smiled Marjorie as she buttered another generous slice of bread.

      "I'll say!" said the urchin taking enormous bites of his sandwich.

      "How about a glass of milk?" she asked.

      "Got milk too? Okay with me!"

      She laughed and poured out a brimming glass of milk, and then brought out an orange and some little cookies from a tin.

      "Gosh!" he said eyeing the spread with genuine amazement, his jaws pausing for a second in their vigorous chewing. "All that!"

      "Will that keep you busy till we get back?" asked Marjorie with another smile.

      "I'll say!"

      "Well, don't make any noise. You just stay here and keep the door and be ready to open it for us when we get back with the children!"

      Then Marjorie flung on her coat, and put on her hat as she went out the door with Ted.

      "Say, you don't needta come," said Ted with belated courtesy. "I can manage with the two kids. Sunny'll run along beside me, and Bonnie is nearly seven. She can walk all right."

      "But if she has a fever she ought not to walk," said Marjorie. "Is she too heavy for you to carry? Couldn't we get a taxi?"

      Ted grinned.

      "Taxis don't grow around here," he said significantly. "Sure, I can carry her if it's necessary. It's only a little over three blocks."

      They walked along almost a block before Marjorie spoke again and a great shyness was possessing Ted. Out in the sunshine with this strange new sister, who looked so much like Betty, and yet was different, who dressed like a "swell" and used scarcely any slang at all, he was deeply embarrassed. Conscious too of his shabby trousers, and torn old sweater, awfully conscious of that lovely squirrel coat she was wearing, and the chic little hat perched on her golden head. She seemed a strange lady from another world. In the house it had been comparatively easy to converse with another Betty, who was wearing Betty's apron, cleaning off pantry shelves and scrambling eggs. But out here it was different. He felt that everyone they met was staring at him, and comparing his shabbiness with his new sister's elegance.

      Then Marjorie spoke.

      "You said something about the beds, but I didn't take it in. Is there a place for the children? I expect the little girl with a fever ought to be put to bed at once. Where does she sleep? Will it disturb Father and Mother to put her to bed? I think it's important that they should not be disturbed."

      "I was just wondering about that myself," said Ted in a troubled voice. "There's only three rooms upstairs. Bonnie has always had her little bed in Betty's room and Sunny's crib was in mine. But we had to sell their beds last week, to buy medicine for Mother. Bonnie's been sleeping on the mattress with Betty since, and Sunny with me."

      He looked up half fearfully, almost defiantly, wondering what she would think of such poverty.

      "I see," said Marjorie thoughtfully. "Well, we've got to do something else right away, I guess, if she really has a fever. She ought not to be down so near the floor. There are draughts on the floor."

      Ted looked up thoughtfully.

      "I could get Bonnie's bed," he said. "It's a light little thing made of bamboo. It was Betty's when she was a kid. I know where I could borrow a wheelbarrow. Two or three trips would do it."

      "That's fine!" said Marjorie. "Suppose you do that as soon as we get them home. Has it a mattress?"

      "Yes, and a pillow. Poor kid! She cried for her own pillow the first night it was gone. Funny little things, kids. They don't use their brains! Haveta have what they want."

      Marjorie smiled at him.

      "I guess we're a little like them, aren't we? Want what we want very badly. I know I am. That's why I came away off here hunting you all. I wanted a family badly!"

      He grinned speculatively at that and didn't know what to say, but at last blurted out:

      "I guess it would have made a lot of difference if we'd known you felt that way."

      "Well, I'm sorry we didn't all understand sooner," said Marjorie, "but perhaps we can make up for lost time now."

      Then they arrived at the neighborhood crèche and Ted led the way in.