Send them to her and wait until you're well to
find out if she coasted on all of them or wanted them for kindling wood.
There--I knew it'd make your pain worse. Wait--I'll warm this!" All
solicitous, for her brother's face had twisted in agony, the sister
dropped the telegram and busied herself over her patient.
Her advice seemed good. "Well, send them. Tell them to rush the order,"
he groaned, then gave himself over to his suffering with, somewhere back
in his head, the thought that there was quite a bit more to being a
guardian than he had calculated.
So while Harkness and Budge and Mrs. Williams, pressed into service,
made the old Manor festive with flowers and pine boughs, Robin completed
the plans for her part of the party, and confided to Beryl that fifty of
the Mill youngsters were coming to the Manor to coast on the sloping
hillside.
"Robin Forsyth, what ever will they all say?"
"Who?" demanded Robin, with aggravating innocence.
"All the guests. Why, Robin, you're hopeless! You simply can't get it
into your head that the Forsyths are different from--the Mill people."
"They're not. And we haven't time to argue now.
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