Part 4 (1/2)

”Would you like that?”

”Yes, indeed we should,” they answered in a breath.

”But it would take a great deal of money, and instead of being very rich when you grow up, and being able to travel everywhere and have beautiful clothing and jewels, you might have to give up many things of that sort.”

”But,” said Elizabeth, climbing up into her mother's lap, ”isn't doing things for poor children like d.i.c.k, better than that?”

”There's no doubt about it,” said their mother, her eyes s.h.i.+ning as she kissed the tops of the two round heads now cuddled on her shoulders, in what Beth called her ”arm cuddles.”

”Well, we don't mind then, do we, sister?”

”No indeed,” said sister promptly, kicking her foot out towards the fire. ”Dresses are a bother, and always getting torn, and traveling makes you very tired, only the luncheon's nice. But I'd lots rather build a home.”

”Let's see,” said mother, ”if you are as ready to give up something now.

Elizabeth's birthday is next week and Ethelwyn's next month. I had thought we might take a short yachting trip,--all of us, Nan, Aunty Stevens--”

”O, mother,” they cried, turning around to hug her.

”Then there is a doll in town that can walk and talk. Beth, deary, you choke me so I can't talk;--and a camera for sister. Would you mind giving up these things to help pay the hospital expenses, or to buy a wheel chair or some comfort for d.i.c.k?”

Down went the heads again, and dead silence reigned except for the crackling of the fire and the clicking of Aunty Stevens' needles.

”May we go away and think it over?” said Ethelwyn soberly.

”Yes.”

So they slid down and disappeared to think it out alone, as they always did when obliged to settle questions for themselves. Ethelwyn went outdoors, and crawled into the hammock on the porch. The wind blew mistily from the sea and was heavy with dampness and cold, but the child paid no attention to that; she was so busy thinking. Surely, she thought, there was money enough for d.i.c.k and the others without giving up her camera and the sea trip. She had longed for a camera all summer.

Nan had the use of her mother's and had taken their pictures in all places and positions, and she did so wish for one. But then, there was poor d.i.c.k, how uncomfortable he had looked.

Elizabeth, meantime, went to the bedside of her beloved doll family.

They were lying serene and placid, exactly as she had placed and tucked them in at bedtime, with her own motherly hand, and the memory of d.i.c.k lying racked with pain on the comfortless bed where she had first seen him, almost decided her at once. But a doll that could walk and talk, though, would be lovely.

”But then, darlings,” she said, after a little, ”you might think I would love her better than you, and you are such dears, you don't deserve that.”

So Beth kissed them all with fervor, her mind quite made up.

While they were away, Aunty Stevens said, ”Isn't that a pretty hard test?”

The children's mother shook her head thoughtfully at the dancing fire.

”I hope not,” she said. ”I don't wish them to do things now that they will repent of afterwards. But it seems to me that if they are trained now to be unselfish, they will always be so. Don't you think, dear Mrs.

Stevens, that the whole trouble with the world is its selfishness?”

”No doubt at all about it,” said the older woman, nodding emphatically over her flying needles.

”Then if the world is to be made better, and rid of this, which lies at the bottom of all the crime, sin and unhappiness, the younger ones of us will have to be taught to sacrifice, at least some luxuries, to help give less fortunate ones the necessities of life,” said Mrs. Rayburn, getting interested, and talking fast and earnestly.