He was flooded with sunlight.
Margaret-Mary's pink wash frock, Teddy's white linen--yellow jonquils
in a blue bow--snowy lambs gambolling on a green frieze--Bo-peeps,
flying ribbons--it was a cheering and charming picture.
"How gay you are," said Derry.
"We are not gay in our hearts," Teddy told him.
"Why not?"
"Mother's crying--we heard her, and then Nurse went down and left us,
and we looked out of the window and you came."
Derry's heart seemed to stop beating. "Crying?"
Even as he spoke, Margaret stood on the threshold. There were no
tears, but it was worse than tears.
He started towards her, but with a gesture she stopped him.
"I am so glad you are--here," she said.
"My dear--what is it?"
She put her hand up to her head. "Teddy, dearest," she asked, "can you
take care of Margaret-Mary until Cousin Derry comes back? I want to
talk to him."
Teddy's grave eyes surveyed her. "You've been cryin'," he said, "I
told Cousin Derry--"
"Yes. I have had--bad news. But--I am not going to cry--any more.
And you'll take care of sister?"
"I tell you, old chap," said Derry resourcefully, "you and
Margaret-Mary can open my parcel, and when I come back we'll all play
together.
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