AT first, gloom brooded over the small Marceys. Something portentous had happened. Jove was angry. Laurie bounced around the kitchen saying, "Poor lambs, I'll take care of them, myself." Their grandmother seemed to be kinder and more comprehending of childhood than one had ever known her to be. As for Alice, she made no sign. She went on a disturbingly even way. It was Robert who came to her to learn the precise details of the case.
"Are you going out to dinner to-night?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Alice.
"Are you going out to breakfast to-morrow?"
"I'm not sure," said Alice.
"And lunch, to-morrow?"
"Yes."
"And dinner to-morrow night?"
"And the next, and the next, and the next, and the next?" asked Sara.
"You shut up!" Robert commanded rudely. "Why are you going?" he asked.
"I'll tell you why," replied his mother, her voice cool as an iceberg. "It's because your father objects to the way that you and Sara and Jamie eat,—and do not eat,—at table. Your remarks spoil his pleasure. He is tired, and he is going out to take a rest."
Gloom spread over Robert. For one second it seemed as if it would work. It might have worked without Sara; but at that point Sara, the heartless, clapped her hands and cried aloud:
