Late that afternoon the two girls went out to feed the hens and
then, as was often their custom, they climbed the trail to the mesa
that they might watch the sunset. On their return, Margaret gathered
a few late desert flowers to place on the table beside Malcolm’s
bed. It was still daylight when they returned and Megsy went at once
to the closed door and tapped thereon. There was no response. What
could it mean? Even if Malcolm had fallen asleep, the rapping would
have awakened him. Beckoning to Virginia, she whispered anxiously,
“Oh, Virg, what can have happened? Your brother can’t have lost
consciousness, could he?”
There was a sudden terror in the heart of Virginia. Leaping forward,
she turned the knob, but the door was locked. Before they could be
thoroughly frightened, however, they heard a merry laugh, and there
stood Malcolm back of them. He had on his nice wooly bathrobe that
the girls had given him for Christmas and his comfortable slippers.
“You see,” he apologized, “I’ve never had an opportunity to wear
them before, because this is the first time I’ve ever been even near
sick, so please don’t scold, and I _did_ want to get up and have
supper with you girls. It seems to me that I’ve been in bed for
weeks.”
“One, only, to be accurate,” his sister corrected. “Malcolm, you sit
down in this easy chair at once and let me feel your pulse.”
“Very well, nurse,” the lad smilingly complied. In fact he was glad
to sink into the big comfortable chair, which was drawn close to the
hearth. He wasn’t as strong as he had expected to be. Virginia
brought a knitted blanket to put over his knees while Margaret put
sofa pillows back and around him.
“If I’m treated this way,” he beamed, “I’m not at all sure that I’ll
want to get well.”
“Let’s have our supper in here by the fire,” Virginia suggested.
“Oh yes, let’s,” Megsy seconded. “Now, what ought our patient to
eat? Bring me a pencil and paper and I’ll write my order.” There was
again that merry twinkle in the eyes that were often so serious.
Margaret skipped to the big writing desk and returned with the
requested materials. “And while you think about it, Virg and I will
prepare for the feast.” They brought Virginia’s work table from her
room and spread it with a dainty lunch cloth and put Margaret’s red
blossoms in the center. “I don’t see what Malcolm can be writing,”
Virginia said. “He ought only to have eggs on toast or something
like that.” But when a moment later she looked at the paper which
the lad gaily presented, she said, “Why Malcolm Davis, you’ve
ordered everything that you ought not to have. Creamed oysters, of
all things!”
“Perhaps they wouldn’t hurt him,” interceded Margaret. “And you know
the thing you have a hankering for is supposed to be what you need.”
Then clapping her hands girlishly, she exclaimed, “Oh Virg, please
say that we may have them. I’ll get the chafing dish out of my
trunk. You know what fun we had in school with it. Then you get two
cans of oysters, the milk, butter and seasoning, and we can prepare
it all right here on the table. Wouldn’t that be jolly?”
Virginia agreed that it would. Then she prepared the toast while
Margaret, flushed and happy because she could do something for her
beloved guardian, stirred up the cream sauce and dropped in the
oysters. Malcolm, leaning back in solid comfort, watched and
admired. At last he commented, “Did ever a chap in all the world
have two such sisters to take care of him!”
There was a sudden twinge in the heart of Margaret. What could it
mean? Surely she was glad, glad to have the splendid Malcolm call
her “sister.” There was a note of tender wistfulness in her voice,
which she herself did not know when she replied, “We would do
anything, give up anything, Oh, it doesn’t matter what, if it would
add to your happiness, Brother Malcolm.” Almost unconsciously the
girl was thinking of the time that would surely come when someone,
perhaps now unknown to them, would take in his life a place closer
than that of sister.
“Toast’s ready! How about the creamed oysters?” Virginia looked up
from the hearth where she had been kneeling.
“It’s done to a turn.” Megsy’s voice was merry once more. Then Virg
put the buttered slices of toast on each plate, and Margaret placed
dainty portions of the creamed oysters on them.
Malcolm ate with greater relish than he had since he had been ill or
rather exhausted, for he had no definite malady, just extreme
weariness. When he asked for a second portion, he pretended to look
imploringly at Virginia as though he feared she would say, “You have
had sufficient for tonight.” And, indeed, maybe she might have said
something of the kind, but Margaret was refilling his plate and it
was too late to protest.
When the dainty little meal was over and the small table had been
carried away, Malcolm smiled contentedly at the two girls, who sank
into nearby chairs, the light from the fire falling on their faces.
For a time they were silent, each thinking his or her own thoughts.
At last Malcolm said, “Virg, are they worth the proverbial penny?”
The girl looked up brightly. “I was wondering how we are to convey
Eleanor’s invitation to Babs and Peyton,” she replied. “I do hope
that they can accompany us.”