A gentleman!  Poor Philly!

Mr. Dayton now came back to them.  It was lucky that he knew the station and was used to the ways of railroads, for it appeared that Mrs. Watson had made no arrangements whatever for her journey, but had blindly devolved the care of herself and her belongings on her “young friends,” as she called Clover and Phil.  She had no sleeping section secured and no tickets, and they had to be procured at the last moment and in such a scramble that the last of her parcels was handed on to the platform by a porter, at full run, after the train was in motion.  She was not at all flurried by the commotion, though others were, and blandly repeated that she knew from the beginning that all would be right as soon as Miss Carr and her brother arrived.

Mrs. Dayton had sent a courteous invitation to the old lady to come to Car Forty-seven for tea, but Mrs. Watson did not at all like being left alone meantime, and held fast to Clover when the others moved to go.

“I’m used to being a good deal looked after,” she explained.  “All the family know my ways, and they never do let me be alone much.  I’m taken faint sometimes; and the doctor says it’s my heart or something that’s the cause of it, so my daughter she—­You ain’t going, my dear, are you?”

“I must look after my brother,” said poor Clover; “he’s been ill, you know, and this is the time for his medicine.”

“Dear me! is he ill?” said Mrs. Watson, in an aggrieved tone.  “I wasn’t prepared for that.  You’ll have your hands pretty full with him and me both, won’t you?—­for though I’m well enough just now, there’s no knowing what a day may bring forth, and you’re all I have to depend upon.  You’re sure you must go?  It seems as if your sister—­Mrs. Worthing, is that the name?—­might see to the medicine, and give you a little freedom.  Don’t let your brother be too exacting, dear.  It is the worst thing for a young man.  I’ll sit here a little while, and then I’ll—­The conductor will help me, I suppose, or perhaps that gentleman might—­I hate to be left by myself.”

These were the last words which Clover heard as she escaped.  She entered Car Forty-seven with such a rueful and disgusted countenance that everybody burst out laughing.

“What is the matter, Miss Clover?” asked Mr. Dayton.  “Has your old lady left something after all?”

“Don’t call her my old lady!  I’m supposed to be her young lady, under her charge,” said Clover, trying to smile.  But the moment she got Katy to herself, she burst out with,—­

“My dear, what am I going to do?  It’s really too dreadful.  Instead of some one to help me, which is what papa meant, Mrs. Watson seems to depend on me to take all the care of her; and she says she has fainting fits and disease of the heart!  How can I take care of her?  Phil needs me all the time, and a great deal more than she does; I don’t see how I can.”

“You can’t, of course.  You are here to take care of Phil; and it is out of the question that you should have another person to look after.  But I think you must mistake Mrs. Watson, Clovy.  I know that Mrs. Hall wrote plainly about Phil’s illness, for she showed me the letter.”