Free Re-Creations by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

was going or when he was coming back, he had slammed the front door behind him.
    The father had an ashen-gray, helpless look; Louise’s mouth drooped at the corners, and there were tears in her eyes as she held up her head bravely and carried a pile of plates out to the kitchen; while Harry with an ugly sneer on his young lips shoved his chair back, noisily murmuring, “Aw, gee! Gotta date! Always gotta date! When I grow up, I’ll see if I always have to have a date!” Then he snatched an armful of dishes and strode to the kitchen, grumbling in an undertone all the way.
    Cornelia cast a quick, apprehensive look at her father and said cheerily, “Oh, never mind. Of course young men have dates, and when you’ve promised, you know it isn’t easy to change. Come, let’s get these dishes out of the way quickly, and then we can sit down and talk. It’s great to all be together again, isn’t it? Father, dear, how long do you suppose it will be before Mother is well? Have you had a letter today?”
    The father beamed at her again, and putting his hand in his pocket, drew out an official-looking envelope.
    “Yes,” he said wistfully. “That is, a note from the nurse with the report. Of course she is not allowed to write. She just sends her love, that’s all, and says she’s getting well as fast as possible. She seems to be gaining a little. Here’s the report.”
    They all gathered around it, studying the little white, mysterious paper that was to tell them how the dear mother was getting on, and then turned away little wiser. Suddenly Harry, noticing the sag of Cornelia’s shoulder as she stood holding on to the back of her father’s chair, turned with a swift motion and gathered her into his strong young arms like a bear. Before she could protest he bore her over to the old, lumpy couch, where he deposited her with a gruff gentleness.
    “There you are!” he puffed commandingly. “You lie there, and Lou and I will do the dishes. You’re exhausted, and you don’t know enough to know it.”
    “Nonsense!” said Cornelia, laughing and trying to rise. “I’m used to playing basketball and hockey and doing all sorts of stunts. It won’t hurt me to get a little tired. I’m going to wash those dishes, and you can wipe them.”
    “No, you’re not. I say she’s not, Lou, is she?” and he held her down with his rough young force.
    “Certainly not,” said Louise grown-uply appearing with her hands full of knives and forks. “It’s our turn now. She thinks we don’t know how to wash dishes. Harry Copley, you just oughta see all she’s done by herself upstairs, cleaning Carey’s room and washing blankets and all, besides making bread and gingerbread and everything. Come on upstairs and see. No, we won’t go yet till the dishes are done. ’cause Nellie would work while we were gone. Daddy, you just sit there and talk to her, and don’t let her get up while we clean up. Then we’ll take you upstairs.”
    So Cornelia lay still at last on the lumpy couch and rested, realizing that she was exhausted and feeling well repaid for her hard work by the loving light in the children’s eyes and her father’s tender glance.
    The thought of Carey hung in the back of her mind and troubled her now and then, but she remembered that he had promised to help her in the morning, and somehow that comforted her. She succeeded in keeping the rest of the family so interested in her tales of college life that they did not remember their troubles.
    When the dishes were done, Cornelia told Louise how to set some buckwheat cakes for morning.
    “I saw they were selling buckwheat cheap in the store,” she explained, “and so I got some. It will soon be too warm to eat buckwheat cakes, and I’m just crazy to taste them again. I haven’t had a decent one since I left home.”
    “Carey just loves ‘em,” said Louise thoughtfully.
    “Aw, he won’t get up in time to get any,” sneered Harry.
    “He might if he knew we were