They'll work it out for themselves, Mary," said Mr. Blossom, when his wife was expressing her fears on account of the attitude of March and Cherry.
"I hope with all my heart they will, without friction or unpleasantness for the poor child," replied his wife, thought fully, for March's looks and words returned to her, and they foreboded trouble.
Her husband smiled. "Perhaps the poor child will have her ways of looking at things up here, which may cause a pretty hard rub now and then for our children. But let them take it; it will do them good, and show us what stuff is in them for the future."
Mrs. Blossom tried to think so, but March's words on that afternoon she had told the children came back to her.
They were dumb at first through sheer surprise. Then Rose spoke, flinging aside her Virgil she had been studying by the failing light at the window.
"Oh, mother! we've been so happy—just by ourselves."
"Will you be less happy, Rose, in trying to make some one else share our happiness?"
Rose said nothing, but leaned her forehead against the pane, and the tears trickled adown it and froze halfway.
Mrs. Blossom proceeded, in the silence that followed, to tell them something of Hazel's life. Then Budd spoke up like a man.
"I'm awful sorry for her; she's a little brick to be willing to come away from her father and live with folks she don't know. I'd be a darned coward about leaving my Popsey."
