Part 5 (1/2)

'Oh, never mind. Don't cry, whatever you do; I've got such a headache,'

said Christopher, hastily.

'I'm n--not crying; I never cry,' stammered Barbara, in a shaky voice.

'I--I want to do something for you, only you won't tell me what to do.'

Kit answered her with a violent struggle for breath, and the child felt more helpless than ever. It was just as she was making a feeble attempt to raise him in his chair that Jill came in.

'You poor fellow!' she exclaimed, taking in the whole scene at once.

'Here, Babs, give me that piece of brown paper, and run and fetch his medicine, will you? Poor boy! Poor Kit!'

She knelt beside him and supported him with her arm, while she wafted a smouldering tuft of brown paper in front of him. 'Now, fetch some cus.h.i.+ons out of the drawing-room,' she commanded, when Barbara returned with the medicine; and, delighted at being given something to do, the child sped away on her errand. When she came back with her arms full of cus.h.i.+ons, Jill had a delightful plan to unfold.

'Ring the bell for the lamp, Babs,' she said, in her soft voice, which was already soothing Christopher's nerves; 'and we'll have tea together before you go. Shall we, Kit, dear?'

'It's awfully good of you,' he answered weakly. The attack was pa.s.sing off, and he was visibly cheering up. By the time tea was brought in, he was sufficiently recovered to take the lead in his usual determined manner; and Jill humoured him by giving in to him meekly, even consenting, under his guidance, to toast slices of plum-cake at the end of a penknife.

'It's very extravagant, when it's Auntie Anna's plum-cake instead of the stale stuff cook used to make; but as it's the Babe's last evening we may be extravagant, mayn't we, Jill?' argued Christopher. 'Now, Babs, you melt the b.u.t.ter; and for goodness' sake do remember you're not at home, and don't smash the plate.'

His reminder did not wholly make the desired effect upon Babs, for when the boys returned from the farm in a noisy tribe, flushed with the glory of slaying, they found the 'adopted kid' scrubbing her gown with a clean handkerchief, while Babs hung over her, covered with confusion.

'Don't worry yourself, child,' Jill was saying consolingly. 'A lump of b.u.t.ter, more or less, doesn't make any difference to a frock I've worn all the winter.'

'It just slid off the plate when I wasn't looking,' said Barbara, penitently. 'I can't think why it didn't slide on to my frock instead of yours.'

A chorus of merriment rang from behind.

'You ridiculous Babe!' shouted Peter. 'Why, the b.u.t.ter is _tired_ of being spilled down your frock.'

Jill jumped to her feet, and blushed a little. As Kit had predicted, she found it much easier to get on with her cousins when she took them 'separately, or in pairs'; and she was not used yet to facing them all at once. The sound of wheels outside gave her an excuse for escape, and she put her arm hurriedly round Babs.

'Come upstairs and put on your hat,' she suggested, and the two girls hastened out of the room.

Auntie Anna saw to it that the farewells were not prolonged, and Barbara found herself whirled into the covered wagonette with her last words only half said. Kit was allowed time to whisper a gruff apology for being cross with her before tea, but the others had to follow her to the front door to shout their good-byes after her.

'Don't get the blues because _we_ are not there!' cried Wilfred.

'I'll write great lots of times,' declared Robin, who was in tears. 'I won't even wait for the lines to be ruled, Babs dear. You won't mind the spelling, will you? 'Cause it saves so much time if you don't.'

'Cheer up!' was all Egbert said; and Barbara wondered if she was very hard-hearted, because she was not half so wretched as they all expected her to be. Peter even made her laugh outright, as he sprang on the step of the carriage, and went a little way down the drive with them.

'Don't funk it, old girl!' he shouted through the window. 'And just send for us, if anything goes wrong!'

'Be off with you!' said Auntie Anna, shutting up the window; and that was the last that the Babe of the Berkeley family saw of the boys who had been her only companions through life.

She had plenty to think about in her long drive in the dark; and Auntie Anna was wise enough to leave her alone most of the time. A little more than an hour later, however, when the carriage made a sharp turn and drove through some gates, the old lady roused her by a touch on the arm.

'We are just there, little woman,' she said in her quick, abrupt way. 'Not afraid, eh?'