The Four Graces by D. E. Stevenson

it dull here, Aunt Rona,” said Tilly.
    â€œNot at all,” replied Aunt Rona brightly. “As a matter of fact, I’m very fond of the country. Of course one would have to run up to town occasionally.”
    Tilly pondered these words, and the more she pondered them, the more ominous they seemed: “One would have to run up to town occasionally.” That meant—well, obviously that meant…if one lived here…always. Tilly glanced at Sal to see if she had heard and, hearing, understood the implication, but Sal was darning assiduously.
    The silence that followed Aunt Rona’s statement became unbearable. Tilly wanted to scream. She was just wondering what would happen if she screamed when the back door bell rang.
    â€œThat’s the back door,” said Sal, rising.
    â€œDoesn’t Joan answer the bell?” inquired Aunt Rona.
    â€œJoan’s out,” replied Sal.
    â€œAgain!” exclaimed Aunt Rona.
    Sal was glad to escape. It was a bit mean to leave Tilly there alone, especially when Tilly had been so decent, but Sal had to escape. If she hadn’t been able to escape, something appalling might have happened. Sal could not have borne it another minute. She ran through the kitchen and opened the back door and found Mrs. Element on the step; a wet bedraggled figure in a very long, brown waterproof and a shapeless felt hat. Mrs. Element was thin and angular with large feet that flapped as she walked; her face was pale and freckled; her forehead was bumpy; her hair had been sandy, it was now faded to the color of old hay, but these misfortunes were redeemed by a pair of really beautiful brown eyes, clear as crystal and full of human kindness.
    â€œOh, Mrs. Element!” cried Sal in dismay. “Oh goodness, how wet you are! Your rheumatism—”
    â€œI won’t come in,” said Mrs. Element. “It’ll muss up your floor.”
    â€œOf course you must come in! Let me take your coat. I’ll get you a cup of tea in half no time.”
    â€œIt’s reel good of you, Miss Sal,” said Mrs. Element, coming in with a show of reluctance, though of course she had intended to come in all the time and would have been surprised beyond measure if she had not been offered tea.
    â€œI knew Joan was out,” continued Mrs. Element, taking off her felt hat and placing it on the draining board of the sink. “So I just thought I’d come up and see you. It’s about Bertie. Bertie Pike— you know. I’ve ’ad ’im all the war.”
    â€œI know,” nodded Sal. “You’ve been most awfully good to him.”
    â€œYes,” agreed Mrs. Element. “Yes, that’s right. Jim and me, not ’aving children of our own (through no fault of ours, Miss Sal, though there’s people who throw it in our faces), we took a fancy to the little chap. Just like our own ’e is.”
    â€œYes, I know.”
    â€œWell, Miss Sal, ’is mother’s wrote to Jim saying as ’ow the bombs are over and she wants ’im back. That’s the position , Miss Sal,” added Mrs. Element, obviously pleased with the word.
    â€œOh, Mrs. Element!”
    â€œThat’s the position ,” repeated Mrs. Element. “Bertie don’t want to go back and we don’t want ’im to go back. There it is.”
    There it was. Mrs. Element was sitting back in the chair with her hands folded, waiting confidently for the verdict, quite certain it would be a favorable verdict, too. What was Sal to say? Solomon had ordered the child to be cut in half, thought Sal distractedly.
    â€œI’m afraid,” began Sal. “I’m afraid his mother has a legal right—”
    â€œOh, Miss Sal!” cried Mrs. Element reproachfully. “Oh, Miss Sal, ’ow can you! We’ve ’ad ’im four years come October—and you know what ’e was like when we got ’im. Thin and miserable and