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.”