Kitabı oku: «Sisters», sayfa 12

CHAPTER XXV.
A JOLLY PLAN

Harold’s little gray “bug,” as he sometimes called the car which he boasted was the speediest of its kind, made the long upgrade in high, and that, being a feat it had not accomplished on its last ascent, so gratified the youthful owner that he swung into the seminary grounds with a flourish. Upon seeing his sister sitting moodily in the summer-house with a novel, unread, on her knee, he ran in that direction, waving his cap gleefully.

“Hello, there, Sis!” he called. “Get on your bonnet and come for a ride. The bug is outdoing itself today.”

The girl, whose eyes were suspiciously red, turned toward him coldly. “Harold, how many times have I asked you not to call me Sis. It savors of kitchen mechanics, and, what is more, I do not wear a bonnet. Finally, I most certainly do not wish to ride in that racer of yours.”

The boy dropped down on the bench on the opposite side of the summer-house and gave a long whistle which equally aggravated his companion. Then, stretching out to be comfortable, he thrust his hands deep into his pockets, as he inquired: “Well, then, Sister Gwynette, will you enlighten me as to why your marblesque brow is darkly clouded?”

The girl’s frown deepened and she turned away from him petulantly. “You know just as well as I do that you care nothing whatever about my troubles,” she flung at him. “You wouldn’t be here now if Mother hadn’t sent you, and I’m sure I can’t see why she did. She cares no more for me than you do, or she would not force me to stay in this prison until the close of the term just for appearance sake. I’m not taking the final tests, so why should I pretend that I am?”

The boy drew himself upright and, leaning on the rustic table which was between them, he said, trying not to let his indignation sound in his voice: “Gwynette, do you know that our mother is very, very ill? She is again in bed and I could only be with her for a few moments.”

Harold paused, hoping that his announcement would cause his listener some evident concern, but there was no change in her expression, and so more coldly he continued:

“Mother said nothing whatever about her reason for asking you to remain here until the term is over, but it is my private opinion that when she did send for you, some sort of a scene was stirred up which made Mother’s fever worse. The nurse probably thought best for Mums to be undisturbed as long as possible.” Suddenly the lad sprang up, rounded the table and sat on the side toward which his petulant sister was facing. Impulsively he took her hand as he asked, not unkindly, “Gwyn, don’t you care at all whether our mother lives or dies?”

There was a sudden, startled expression in the girl’s tear-filled eyes, but, as the lad knew, the tears were there merely because of self-pity.

“Dies?” she repeated rather blankly. No one whom she had ever known had died, and she had seemed to think that those near her were immune. “Is Ma Mere going to die?”

The boy followed up what he believed to be an advantage by saying gently, “We would be all alone in the world, Gwyn, if our mother left us, and, oh, it would be so lonely.”

Suddenly and most unexpectedly the girl put her arms on the table and, burying her head upon them, she sobbed bitterly. Harold was moved to unusual tenderness. He put his arm lovingly about his sister as he hastened to say, reassuringly, “Miss Dane, the nurse, told me this morning that Mother’s one chance of recovery lay in not being excited in any way. Her fever must be kept down. We’ll help, won’t we, Gwyn?”

The girl sat up and wiped her eyes with her dainty handkerchief.

“I suppose so,” she said dully. The boy, watching her, could not tell what emotion had caused the outburst of grief. He decided not to follow it up, but to permit whatever seeds had been sown to sprout as they would.

Springing up, he exclaimed: “Snapping turtles! I forgot something I brought for you. It’s in the car.” He ran back, found the box of choice candies, returned and presented them. Gwyn was still gazing absently ahead of her. “Thanks,” she said, but without evidence of pleasure.

The boy stood in the vine-hung doorway gazing down at her. “Gwyn,” he said, “if you want to come home, I’ll be over after you tomorrow. Just say the word.”

“I prefer to wait until my mother sends for me,” was the cold answer. The lad went away, fearing that he had accomplished little.

It was five-thirty when the “bug” again turned into the long lane that led to the farmhouse near Rocky Point.

“Here comes Harold,” Jenny turned from the window to inform the other occupants of the kitchen. Grandma Sue was opening the oven to test her corn bread. Lenora was again in the comfortable armchair near the stove. For the past hour she had been asleep in the hammock out in the sun, and she felt stronger and really hungry. Charles, having been told that there was nothing that he could do to help, sat on the bench answering the questions his sister now and then asked.

Grandpa Si had not yet returned from a neighbor’s where he had gone to help repair fences.

Jenny, dressed in her white Swiss with the pink dots, had a pink butterfly bow in her hair. Her cheeks were flushed and her liquid brown eyes glowing. She was wonderfully happy. Her dear friend Lenora was to remain with her another two weeks. She was convinced that this was the sole reason for her joy. It did not remotely enter her thought that perhaps the return of Harold might be adding to her happiness.

Charles, hearing the siren call, leaped to the porch and the boys again shook hands like old friends who had not met in many a day.

Harold was plainly elated. He detained Charles on the porch long enough to tell his plan.

“I’ve been over to see Mother since I left and she is quite willing that I open up the little cabin on the cliff that used to belong to my Dad when he was young. It’s been closed since he died and I didn’t know how Mother would feel about having it occupied. But when she heard about you, she said she was glad indeed that I was to have a companion, as she knew the big house would seem lonely while she is ill, so we’ll move right over there after supper.”

“That’s great!” the Dakota boy was equally pleased. “Honest, I’ll confess it now; I did dread going to that barren Commercial Hotel, and I couldn’t afford to spend more than ten minutes at The Palms, not if I had to pay for the privilege.”

“Come on, let’s tell our good news.” Harold led the way into the kitchen where his jubilant enthusiasm was met with a like response. Lenora clapped her hands. “Oh, won’t you two boys have the nicest time! Tell us about that cabin. How did your father happen to build it?”

“I don’t believe I ever really knew. Gwyn and I were such little things when he died.” Turning to the older woman, who had dropped on the bench to rest, he asked, “Grandma Sue, you, of course, know all that happened. You were living near here, weren’t you, when my father was a boy?”

“Indeed I was. My folks had the overseein’ of a lemon grove up Live Oak Canyon way. First off I did fine sewin’ for your Grandma Jones. That’s how I come to know your family so well. But she didn’t live long arter I went there, and your grandpa was so broke up, he went to pieces sort of, right arter the funeral an’ pined away, slow like, for two years about. Your pa, Harry, was the only child, and he give up his lawin’ in the big city and come home to stay and be company for his pa. I never saw two folks set a greater store by each other, but the old man (your grandpa wasn’t really old, but grievin’ aged him), even his boy seemed like couldn’t cheer him up, he missed his good woman so. ’Twant long afore he followed her into the great beyond. That other Harold, your pa, was only twenty-two or thereabouts and he was all broke up. He didn’t seem to want to go back to the lawin’ and it was too lonesome for him to stay in the big house, so he sent the help all away, giving ’em each a present of three months’ pay. That is, he sent ’em all but Sing Long. Sing was a young Chinaman then, and he wanted to stay with your pa. That’s when he had the cabin on the cliff built. He was allays readin’, your pa was, so he filled one big room with books and with Sing Long to cook for him and take care of him, there he stayed until he was twenty-five. Then he went ’round the world and came back with a wife.”

Grandpa Si’s entrance interrupted the story. The old man was surprised to find company in the kitchen. “Wall, wall, I swan to glory!” He took off his straw hat and rubbed his forehead with his big red bandanna handkerchief. “If ’tisn’t my helper come so soon. Harry-lad, it’s good for sore eyes to see you lookin’ so young, like there wa’n’t no sech thing ahead as old age.”

Harold shook hands heartily as he exclaimed with his usual enthusiasm: “Old age! Indeed, sir, I don’t believe in it. All I have to do is to look at you and Grandma Sue to know that it doesn’t exist.” Then turning toward the young visitor, he continued: “Silas Warner, may I make you acquainted with Charles Gale?” The weather-bronzed face wrinkled into even a wider smile as the old man held a hand toward the young stranger.

“Wall, now, you’re a size bigger’n our little Lenora here, ain’t you? Tut, tut. We’ve allays boasted about how big we can grow things down here in Californy, but I reckon Dakota’s got us plumb beat. Harry, you’ll have to eat a lot to catch up with your friend.”

That youth laughingly replied that he was afraid that eating a lot would make him grow round instead of high. The old man good naturedly commented, “Wall, Harry-lad, you ain’t so much behind or below whichever ’tis, not more’n half a head, an’ you may make that up. Though ’tain’t short you be now.”

Then he began to sniff, beaming at his spouse, whose cheeks, from the heat of baking, were as ruddy as winter apples. “Ma,” he said, wagging his head from side to side and smacking his lips in anticipation, “that there smell oozin’ out of the oven sort of hits the empty spot. Cream gravy on that thick yellar cornmeal bread! Wall, boys, if there’s rich folks with finer feed ’n that I dunno what ’tis.”

He was washing at the sink pump as he talked.

“Neither do I,” Harold agreed as he sprang to help Jenny place the chairs around the table. Their eyes met and Harold found himself remembering that this lovely girl was own sister to his adopted sister. What relation then was he to Jenny? But before this problem could be solved, Grandma Sue was placing the two plates of cornbread on the table and Jenny had skipped to the stove to pour the steaming gravy into its pitcher-like bowl.

Charles led Lenora to her place, although she protested that she really could walk alone. Harold leaped to the head to draw Grandma Sue’s chair out, and then Jenny’s, while Charles did the same for his sister. Then the merry meal began. Grandpa Si told all that had happened during the day to Susan, as was his custom. Never an evening meal was begun without that query, “Wall, Si, what happened today. Anythin’ newsy?”

It didn’t matter how unimportant the event, if it interested the old man enough to tell it, he was sure of an interested listener. Indeed, two, for Jenny having been brought up to this evening program, was as eager as her grandmother to hear the chronicalings of the day, which seldom held an event that a city dweller would consider worth the recounting.

“Wall, I dunno as there’s much, ’cept Pete says the lemon crop over on that ranch whar you lived when you was a gal, Ma, is outdoin’ itself this year. Tryin’ to break its own record, Pete takes it. He’s workin’ over thar mornin’s and loafin’ arternoons, lest be he can pick up odd jobs like fence-mendin’.” Then, when the generous slices of corn bread had been served and were covered with the delicious cream gravy, there was not one among them who did not do justice to it and consider it a rare treat. After the first edge of hunger was appeased, the old man asked what kind of a year ranchers were having in Dakota. This answered, he smiled toward the frail girl. “Lenora,” he said, “yo’ ain’t plannin’ to pull out ’f here soon, air yo’? It’ll be powerful lonely for Jenny-gal, her havin’ sort of got used to havin’ a sister.” Then, turning to the smiling Charles, the old man said facetiously: “Ma an’ me sort o’ wish you an’ your Pa didn’t want Lenora. We’d like to keep her steady. Wouldn’t we, Ma?” The old woman nodded, “I reckon we would, but there’s others have the first right an’ we’ll be thankful for two weeks more.”

Directly after supper Harold said to his hostess: “Please forgive us if we eat and run. I want to move into the cabin before dark.” Then, to the old man: “I’ll be ready to start work early in the morning.”

CHAPTER XXVI.
A RUSTIC CABIN

It was just before sunset when the two boys reached the cabin on the cliff close to the high hedge which separated the farm from the rest of the estate. It was a rustic affair with wide verandas on three sides. From the long front windows there was an unobstructed view of the coast line circling toward the Rincon Mountain which extended peninsula-wise out into the ocean.

Sing Long opened the front door and beamed at them. He greeted Harold and his friend, saying good naturedly, “Me showee. Alle done.” He led the way at once upstairs. A very large bedroom was most comfortably furnished with severe simplicity. The Chinaman opened a closet door and showed Harold his clothes hanging there.

“Great!” the boy was indeed pleased to find that he was being so well cared for. “You may sleep up at the big house, just as you have been doing, Sing,” Harold told him, “but be back to prepare our breakfast by five tomorrow morning.”

The Chinaman grinned, showing spaces between yellowed teeth. “Belly early, him. Fibe ’clock.” It was quite evident that he was recalling former days when it had been hard to awaken his young master at a much later hour.

Harold laughed. “Oh, times have changed, Sing. No more late sleeping for me. Tomorrow I’m going to begin to be a farmer.”

They could hear the Chinaman chuckling as though greatly amused until he was out of the cabin. Harold at once became the thoughtful host. “I’ll budge my things along and make room for yours in the closet,” he said. “We’ll have your trunk brought over from The Commercial tomorrow.” Then, going to the window, he stood, hands thrust in pockets, looking out at the surf plunging against the rocks. For some moments he was deep in thought. Silently Charles unpacked the few things he had with him. Harold turned as the twilight crept into the room. “Dear old Dad loved this place,” he said, which showed of what he had been thinking.

“Even after he and Mother were married, when there was a crowd of gay folk up at the big house, one of Mother’s week-ends, Dad would come here and stay with his books for company most of the time. I suppose the guests thought him queer. I’m inclined to think that at first Mother did not understand, for she has often told me how deeply she regrets that she had persuaded him to give up coming down here. She wishes that instead she had given up the house parties. Oh, well, there’s a lot to regret in this old world.” Charles, knowing nothing of his new friend’s self-reproach because of having neglected his adopted sister, wondered at a remark so unlike the enthusiastic conversation of the earlier evening. The truth was that Harold was saddened by this first visit to his father’s cabin. Suddenly he clapped a friendly hand on the older lad’s shoulder and said, “But come, the prize room is downstairs. I don’t wonder Dad liked to be in it more than in any room over at the big house. I used to visit him when I was a little shaver, but the place has been locked since his death. I was ten when Dad died.”

They had descended a circling open stairway which led directly into the large room, a fleeting glance at which Charles had had on their entering.

It was indeed an ideal den for a man who loved to read. A great stone fireplace was at one end with bookcases ceiling high, on either side.

There were Indian rugs on the floor, low wall lamps that hung over comfortable wicker chairs with basket-like magazine holders at the side. A wide divan in front of the blazing fire on the hearth invited Charles, and he threw himself full length, his hands clasped under his head. “Harold, this is great,” he exclaimed. “I’ve been in such a mad rush these last days getting the finals over, packing and traveling down here, that it seems mighty good to stretch out and let go for awhile.”

“Do you smoke?” Harold asked. “If you want to, go ahead. I never learned. Dad was much opposed to smoking and even though I was so young I promised I wouldn’t, at least not until I was twenty-one.” Then, after a moment of thought, the younger lad concluded: “In memory of Dad, I shall never begin.”

“Glad to hear it, old man! If a chap doesn’t start a bad habit, he won’t have to struggle to break it when it begins to pull down his health. I much prefer to breathe fresh air myself.” Charles changed the subject. “What’s this about getting up at five o’clock to start in being a farmer? Don’t tell me, though, if you’d rather not.”

“Oh, there’s no secret to it. Sort of thought I’d like to learn how to run a farm since I am to own one.”

“Surely! But I didn’t know you were to inherit a farm. Where’s it located?”

It was evident that Charles did not know that the Rocky Point farm belonged to Harold’s mother and the boy hesitated to tell, not knowing but that the older lad would think less of the Warners and Jenny if he knew that they were what Gwyn called his “mother’s servants.” A second thought assured him that this would be very unlikely.

Simply Harold said, “Silas Warner is my mother’s overseer.”

“Oho, I understand. You’re lucky to have such a splendid man to look after your interests.” Then, “I like ranching mighty well. Dad suggested that I take up law, thought I might need it later, when – ” Charles never finished that sentence, and, if Harold thought it queer, he made no comment.

They talked of college, of ambitions and plans for the future, until bed time. For the first time in his life Charles was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic breaking of the waves as the tide went out.

CHAPTER XXVII.
FUN AS FARMERS

Grandpa Si and Grandma Sue were alone at a five o’clock breakfast. They did not wish Jenny to get up that early as there was really nothing to do, but make the morning coffee, fry the bacon and flapjacks, which constituted the farmer’s breakfast menu every day in the year.

Silas Warner often tried to persuade his good wife to sleep later, telling her that he could well enough prepare his own breakfast, but he had long since desisted, realizing that he would be depriving her of one of their happiest hours together. It was then, when they were quite alone, that they talked over many things, and this morning Susan found her hands trembling as she poured the golden brown coffee into her husband’s large thick china cup. Silas had asked for three days to meditate on the serious question of whether or not they should tell Jenny that she was not their own child, and Susan well knew that this morning she would hear his decision.

It was not until the cakes were fried and she was seated opposite him that he looked over at her with his most genial smile, and yet the silent watcher knew him so well that she could sense that he was not happy in the decision which he evidently had reached. “Pa, you think it’s best to tell, don’t you? I can sort o’ see it comin’.”

“I reckon that’s about what my ruminatin’ fetched me to, Susan. You’n me know how our gal’s hankerin’ for an own sister, and now that Lenora is goin’, she’ll be lorner ’n ever, Jenny will.” He glanced toward the closed door which led to the living room where their “gal” slept since she had given her bed to her guest. “I cal’late we’d better keep it dark though till Lenora’s gone, then sort of feel our way as how best to tell it. Thar’s time enough. While Lenora’s here, there ain’t no need for any other sister for our gal.”

Susan Warner sighed, even while she smiled waveringly. “Wall, Si, if you think it’s best, I reckon ’tis. But it’ll be powerful hard to have Jenny thinkin’ the less of us.”

The good man rose and walked around the table and placed a big gnarled hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Tut! Tut! Susy,” that was the name he had used in the courtin’ days, “our gal ain’t made of no sech clay as that. She’ll stick by us all the tighter, you see if ’taint so.”

Further conversation on the subject was prevented by the arrival of Harold and Charles decked in overalls, which the former lad had obtained from his mother’s gardener.

Silas Warner stepped out on the side porch to greet them and his grin was at its widest. “Wall, I swan to glory, if here ain’t my two helpers. Ready to milk the cow, Harry-lad?”

Mrs. Warner appeared in the open door, her blue checked apron wound about her hands. She smiled and nodded. “Speak quietly, boys. We like Lenora to sleep as late as she can,” was her admonition.

The farmer led the way to the barn and there he again stood grinning his amusement. The boys laughed good naturedly. “Say, them overalls of your’n, Harry, are sort o’ baggy, ’pears like to me. You could get one o’ Ma’s best pillars in front thar easy.”

The younger lad agreed. “Charles has the best of it. Our gardener is just about his size. Now if only we had a couple of wide straw hats with torn brims, we’d look the part.”

Shaking with mirth, the old man led the boys to a shed adjoining the barn, where on a row of nails were several hats ragged and tattered enough to suit the most exacting comedian. “Great!” the younger lad donned one and seizing the milk pail from the farmer’s hand, he struck an attitude, exclaiming dramatically “Lead me to the cow.” But he was to find that a college education did not help one to milk, and after a few futile efforts he rose, and, with a flourish, offered the bench to Charles, who, having often milked, had the task done in short order. Harry watched the process closely, declaring that in the evening he would show them.

That same morning Mrs. Poindexter-Jones awakened feeling better than she had in a long time.

While Miss Dane was busying herself about the room, the older woman lay thoughtfully gazing at a double frame picture on the wall. It contained photographs of two children, one about eight and the other about five. How beautiful Gwynette had been with her long golden curls and what a manly little chap Harold. She sighed deeply. The boy had not changed but the girl – .

Another thought interrupted: “Now that you and Harold both believe that it may be partly your fault, you may feel differently toward Gwynette.”

“I do love her,” the woman had to acknowledge. “One cannot bring up anything from babyhood and not care, but I was not wise. I overindulged the child because she was so beautiful, and I was proud to have people think her my own, and, later, when she was so heartlessly selfish, I was hurt. Poor Gwynette.”

Aloud she said: “Miss Dane, please telephone the seminary and tell my daughter that I am sending the carriage for her at four this afternoon. I want her to come home. Then, when my son comes, tell him I wish to see him. He told me that he would be here in the early afternoon.”

“Very well. I will attend to it.” The nurse glided from the room to telephone Gwynette. Half an hour later she returned. The woman looked up almost eagerly. Miss Dane merely said, “The message was given.”

She did not care to tell that the girl’s voice had been coldly indifferent. Her reply had been, “Very well. One place does as well as another!”

At noon, after a morning cultivating in the fields, the boys were not sorry when the farmer advised them to take it easy during the afternoon. The day was very warm.

“Well, we will, just at first, while hardening up.” Harold was afraid the farmer would think that he was not in earnest about wanting to help, but there was no twinkle evident in the kind blue eyes of Silas Warner.

The boys, hoes over their shoulders, walked single file through the field of corn toward the farmhouse. The girls had not yet seen them and they expected to be well laughed at. Nor were they mistaken. They found Jenny and Lenora out in the kitchen garden. The former maiden had been gathering luscious, big, red strawberries, while her friend sat nearby on a rustic bench. Jenny stood upright, her basket brimming full, and so she first saw the queer procession.

“Oh, Lenora, do look! Is it or is it not your brother Charles?” The grinning boys doffed their frayed straw hats and made deep bows. Jenny pretended to be surprised. “Why, Harold, is that you? I thought Grandpa had hired a tramp or two to help out. My, but you look hot!”

“Indeed, young ladies, it does not take much perspicacity to make that discovery.” He mopped his brow with his handkerchief as he spoke.

Charles laughed. “It’s harder on Harold than on me. We do this sort of thing every day up at the Agricultural School.”

Then, to tease, he added: “Why don’t you invite the girls to watch you milk this evening?”

“Well, I may at that,” the younger boy said, nothing daunted by their laughter. “But just now we must hie us to our cabin. I promised to visit Mother about two.” Then to Charles he suggested: “Before we eat the good lunch Sing Long will have for us, suppose we go swimming, old man, what say?”

“Agreed! It sounds good to me!” Turning to his sister, Charles took her hand lovingly. “I’ll be over to spend the afternoon with you, dear?”

Harold, glancing almost shyly at the other girl, wished he could say the same thing to her. Then it was he recalled something. “Charles,” he said, “Mother wanted me to bring you over to the big house this afternoon. I call it that to designate it from the cabin. She is eager to meet my new friend.”

“Indeed I shall be very glad to meet your mother.” Then smiling tenderly at the girl whose hand he still held, he said: “You do feel stronger today, don’t you, sister?” She nodded happily, then away the two boys ran.

An hour later, refreshed and sleek-looking after their swim, they sat at a small table on the pine-sheltered side porch and ate the good lunch Sing Long had prepared for them.

“This is great!” Charles enthusiastically exclaimed. “I’d like Lenora to see it.”

“Better still, in a few days, when she is able to walk this far, we will invite the girls to dine.” Harold hesitated, flushed a little and added as an after thought: “Of course we’ll ask my sister, too.” Again he had completely forgotten Gwynette. His good resolution was going to be hard to put into effect, it would seem.

“I shall be glad to meet your mother and also your sister,” Charles was saying.

An impulse came to Harold to confide in Charles. Ought he or ought he not? He knew that he could trust his new friend and his advice might be invaluable. And so he began hesitatingly: “I’m going to tell you something, Charles, which I never told to anyone else. In fact, it’s only recently that Mother realized I knew about it. But now a complication has risen. We, Mother and I, don’t know what is best to do, and what is more, Silas and Susan Warner have to be considered.”

“Don’t tell me unless you are quite sure that you want to, old man,” Charles said in his frank, friendly way, adding, “We make confidences, sometimes, rather on an impulse, and wish later that we had not.”

“Yes, I know. There are fellows I wouldn’t trust to keep the matter dark, but I know that you will. We especially do not wish Jenny Warner to know or Gwynette, my sister, until we have figured out whether or not it would be best. Of course, my mother and the Warners thought they were doing the right thing. Well, I won’t keep you wondering about it any longer. I’ll tell you the whole story as Mother told it to me only two days ago.”

Charles listened seriously. They had finished their lunch and had sauntered down to the cliff before the tale was completed.

“That certainly is a problem,” was the first comment. “I can easily understand that your mother wished to keep the matter a secret, but I do feel sorry for the girls. No one knows the comfort my sister has been to me. I would have lost a great joy out of my life if she had been taken from me – if we had grown up without knowing each other.”

“Of course you would, old man,” Harold agreed heartily. “But, you see, I early figured out that Gwynette couldn’t be my own sister, and I have never really cared for her nor has she for me. Well, she’ll be coming home tomorrow and then you can tell better, perhaps, after having met her, how to advise me. Mother said she would abide by my decision. I asked Mums to postpone for two weeks an ultimatum in the matter.” Then, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder, he added: “Now I must go over and see Mother. If you care to wait in the cabin, I’ll be back in half an hour. I’ll find out when my mother will be able to see you.”

“Of course I’ll wait. Lenora ought to rest after lunch, I suppose. I’ll be glad to browse among the interesting books. Don’t hurry on my account.”

Ten minutes later Harold was admitted to his mother’s room.

“I am keeping awake just for this visit,” the smiling woman said when he had kissed her. “Is your friend with you?”

“No, he is at the cabin. I thought perhaps at first you would rather see me alone. I will go back and get him if you would like to meet him now.”

Instead of answering him, the woman turned to the nurse, who was seated at a window sewing: “Miss Dane, if I sleep for two hours, I might meet Harold’s friend about five, don’t you think?” The nurse assented.

To her son she then said, “I would like you and your friend to dine here every evening. Please begin tonight.”

She purposely did not tell Harold that his sister would be at home and would need his companionship.