Free Brentwood by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

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?” Marjorie smiled 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’s 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 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