myself. But what worries me is the idea of having to go away—away from Paris—for the whole day, with Geordie still coughing a little, and no one but that silly Angèle to stay with him while you're out—and no one but you to take yourself and the others to school. But Junie, Junie, I've got to do it!" she sobbed out, clutching the child tighter.
Junie Fulmer, with her strangely mature perception of the case, and seemingly of every case that fate might call on her to deal with, sat for a moment motionless in Susy's hold. Then she freed her wrists with an adroit twist, and leaning back against the pillows said judiciously: "You'll never in the world bring up a family of your own if you take on like this over other people's children."
Through all her turmoil of spirit the observation drew a laugh from Susy. "Oh, a family of my own—I don't deserve one, the way I'm behaving to you!"
Junie still considered her. "My dear, a change will do you good: you need it," she pronounced.
Susy rose with a laughing sigh. "I'm not at all sure it will! But I've got to have it, all the same. Only I do feel anxious—and I can't even leave you my address!"
Junie still seemed to examine the case.
"Can't you even tell me where you're going?" she ventured, as if not quite sure of the delicacy of asking.
"Well—no, I don't think I can; not till I get
