Once more Katy sank to the ground. Linda looked at her as she
buried her face and began to wail.
"Peter," she said quietly, "hunt our belongings and pack them in
the Bear Cat the best you can. Excuse us for a few minutes. We
must act this out of our systems."
Gravely she sat down beside Katy, laid her head on her shoulder,
and began to cry very nearly as energetically as Katy herself.
And that was the one thing which was most effective in restoring
Katy's nerves. Tears were such an unaccustomed thing with Linda
that Katy controlled herself speedily so that she might be better
able to serve the girl. In a few minutes Katy had reduced her
emotions to a dry sniffle. She lifted her head, groped for her
pocket, and being unable to find it for the very good reason that
she was sitting upon it, she used her gingham hem as a
handkerchief. Once she had risen to the physical effort of
wiping her eyes, she regained calmness rapidly. The last time
she applied the hem she looked at Peter, but addressed the
Almighty in resigned tones: "There, Lord, I guess that will do."
In a few minutes she was searching the kitchen, making sure that
no knives, spoons, or cooking utensils were lost. Missing her
support, Linda sat erect and endeavored to follow Katy's example.
Her eyes met Peter's and when she saw that his shoulders were
shaking, a dry, hysterical laugh possessed her.
"Yes, Katy," she panted, "that WILL do, and remember the tears we
are shedding are over Donald's broken foot, and because this may
interfere with his work, though I don't think it will for long.
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