CHAPTER II
BACK AT LONE-ROCK
The home-coming was keenly pleasant. Mary, who had been going over thehouse helping to throw open all the doors and windows, paused in thecheerful living-room. The September sun shone across the worn carpet andthe familiar furniture which had served them even in the days of thelittle brown house.
"I didn't know that I _could_ be so glad to get back to these old tablesand chairs," she exclaimed. "It actually gives you a real thrill to bewelcomed by something that's known you since babyhood, doesn't it?"
"Yes," answered Jack. "They've been considerably mixed up with ourfamily history, and bear more of the scars of our battles than we do.That little chair of Joyce's for instance. Back in the days of my kiltsand curls I used to kick dents in it every time we had a scrap, becauseI couldn't fight a girl, and I had to let off steam some way."
"This is my especial friend," said Mary. She dropped into a wide rockerthat held out welcoming arms. "Holland and I used to play in this by thehour. It's a wonder there's anything left of it. We had it for astage-coach so many times, and turned over in it whenever it wasattacked by the Indians. I used to curl up in it before the fire, toread or dream or cry in it, till it knows me in all my moods and tenses.Some of these days, when I go to live in my old Kentucky home, I shallask mamma to let me take it with me just for old times' sake."
Jack opened the door of the clock and began winding the weights that hadhung idle for nearly a year. When the swinging pendulum once more beganits deep-toned tick-tock, he looked back over his shoulder with a smile.
"Now I feel that I'm really at home when I hear that voice. As far backas I can remember it's always been saying, 'All _right_! All _right_!' Imade the nurse carry it back into the kitchen where I couldn't hear itthe day the doctor told me I could never walk again. Its cheerfulnessnearly drove me wild when I knew that everything was so hopelessly allwrong. But now listen!" he insisted exultantly. "Everything _is_ allright now, and every day is Thanksgiving Day to me the year around."
There was a huskiness in his voice as he added, "Nobody can know what itmeans to me--the blessedness of being able to go to work."
He dashed away to the office soon after to discover what had been donein his long absence. Norman hurried through the tasks assigned to him assoon as possible, impatient to be off to explore old haunts with BillyDowns. Two pairs of quick, capable hands made light work of the cleaningand unpacking that had to be done that day, and accomplished much morethat might have been left till another time had not Mary's usual zealfor getting everything in proper place in the least possible time takenpossession of her.
"Oh, yes, I know, mamma," she called back in answer to a protest fromthe next room. "These curtains _could_ wait till to-morrow, but they areall fresh and ready to hang, and I'll sleep better if they are on theirpoles instead of on my mind."
"'I'LL SLEEP BETTER IF THEY ARE ON THEIR POLES INSTEAD OFON MY MIND.'"]
As she climbed up and down the step-ladder her thoughts were not on thecurtains which she adjusted mechanically, nor on the song which she washumming in the same way. She was composing the letter which she intendedsending to the Girls' Winter Camp in Florida, applying for the vacantposition, and she wanted to make it perfect of its kind. Mrs. Ware,watching the zest with which she fell upon her work of beautifying thelittle cottage, thought it must be because she felt the truth of therefrain which she sang softly over and over:
"'Mid pleasures and palaces, tho' we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home."
She was so glad to be back herself, that presently, when she hadoccasion to go through the room again, she joined in for a few notes inpassing.
The sweet alto voice made Mary suddenly aware of what she was singing,and she gave a guilty little start, glad that her mother could not knowthat her thoughts had all been absorbed in planning to get away from thehome she was singing about so fondly.
"It does seem nicer to be back than I thought it would," she admitted toherself. "But maybe that's because I know I don't have to stay. Even thefinest cage in the world is more attractive with its door open thanshut."
Although she did not realize the fact, much of her hurry to get thehouse in order was due to a feeling that the summons to take advantageof that open door might come very soon, and she wanted to be ready whenit came.
Late that afternoon she started to the post-office with two letters, oneto the principal of the Girls' Camp, the other to the teacher in WarwickHall who had been given as reference.
"Oh, I hope my application will get there in time, and I hope myreferences will be satisfactory," she thought earnestly. "They ought tobe impressed, with a list which begins with Bishop Chartley and Madam,and General Walton's wife, and includes twenty people from New York toFort Sam Houston in Texas."
Just then a wagon, bearing a huge load of hay, creaked slowly along theroad past her, and a half forgotten superstition of her childhoodflashed into her mind. Hazel Lee had told her once that if you make awish on a hay-wagon it will come true if "yes" is the first word you sayafter doing so. But should you be asked a question requiring any otheranswer, or should it be necessary to make a remark not beginning withthe magic yes, you'll "lose your wish."
So it was with a smile at the old foolishness that Mary watched theloaded wagon go lumbering by. She had wished for a speedy and favorablereply to the letter she was about to post. It had been a point of honorwith Hazel and herself whenever the other came running up, significantlytapping mute lips with an impatient forefinger, to ask, "Do you lovecandy?" or "Do you like peaches?" recognizing the necessity of somequestion to which the liberated little tongue could respond with afervent yes. Boys were always so mean about it, asking, "Do you want meto pull your hair?" or "Do you love Peter Finn?" a half-witted boy inthe neighborhood.
The childish rite brought up a little of the old thrill of apprehension,that no one might ask her the proper question to make her wish cometrue, and Mary smiled broadly over her own foolishness as she went on upthe street. It was the only street which Lone-Rock boasted; just astraggling road, beginning down by the railroad station and the mineoffices, and ending farther up the mountain in a narrow wagon track. Thehouses of the white families were scattered along it at uneven intervalsfor the space of half a mile. Then one came to a little woodenschool-house on one side, and on the other the tiny box of a room whichserved as a post-office. The school-house was used as a chapel one dayout of the week. The mining company's store was beyond that, and alittle farther along, the colony of shanties where the Mexican workmenand their families lived.
The fact that Mary had met no one since leaving home and that only thehay-wagon had passed her, emphasized the loneliness of the little hamletand made her glad that she need not look forward to spending a winterthere. Her quick eyes noted a few changes, however, which promisedinteresting things. Five new houses had gone up in their absence. Therewas a piano in one of them, Billy Downs had told Norman, and Mr.Moredock, the man in the new yellow house, who had come for his health,was writing a history of some kind, and had brought a whole wagon-loadof books.
The postmaster would know all about the newcomers, Mary reflected withsatisfaction. One of her pleasures of coming back was meeting her oldfriend, the postmaster, and at the thought of him she walked a littlefaster. Captain Doane had held the office ever since Lone-Rock had beena mail station, and in a way was a sort of father confessor to everybodyin the place. A clean-shaven jolly old face with deep laughter wrinklesabout the blue eyes, which twinkled through steel-bowed spectacles,bushy iron-gray hair and bristling eyebrows--that was about all one sawthrough the bars of the narrow delivery window. But so much kindlysympathy and neighborly interest and good advice and real concern werehanded out with the daily mail, that every man in the community regardedhim as his personal friend.
There were only two mail trains a day in Lone-Rock, and at this hourMary was sure of finding him at leisure. Seeing him through the openwindow, sound
asleep in his arm-chair over an open newspaper, with hisspectacles slipping down his nose, Mary was about to spring in the doorwith a playful "boo." But she remembered her wish on the hay-wagon andthe necessity of waiting for him to speak first. So she only rattled thelatch. He started up, a little bewildered from his sudden awakening, butseeing who had come, dashed off the old slouch hat, perched on the backof his head.
"Well, bless my soul!" he cried heartily, coming forward with anoutstretched hand. "If it isn't our little Mary Ware! I heard you wereback and I've been looking all afternoon for you to drop in. Have youcome back to stay, this time?"
There was an instant of hesitation, as she considered how she couldreply to such a question honestly with a yes. Then she stammered,"Y-yes, for a little while. That is, just for a few weeks." Then shedrew a long breath. "My! That was a narrow escape. I've been wonderingall the way up the street what would be the first thing you'd say to me,and for a second I was afraid you'd ruined my chances."
Her laugh rang out merrily at his bewildered exclamation. "The chancesfor my wish coming true," she explained. "I made one on a hay-wagon,coming along, about this letter."
"Sit down and give an account of yourself," he insisted, and as she hadcome for a visit she willingly obeyed. But she would not take his chairat the desk as he urged, climbing instead to the only other seat whichthe office afforded. It was a high stool beside the shelf where pens,ink and money-order blanks awaited the needs of the public. Mary hadoften occupied it, and from this perch had given the Captain some of themost amusing hours of his life.
He had missed her when she went away to school, and he never handed outthe letters to her family post-marked "Warwick Hall" without a vision ofthe friendly little girl swinging her feet from her seat on this highstool, as she told him amazing tales of Ware's Wigwam and a placesomewhere off in Kentucky that she seemed to regard as a cross betweenthe Land of Beulah and the Garden of Eden. When she came back fromWarwick Hall she no longer dangled her feet, but sat in more grown-upfashion, her toes propped on the round below. And she seldom stayedlong. There was too much to be done at home, with Jack needing suchconstant attention. But her short accounts of boarding-school life werelike glimpses into a strange world, and he carried home all she told torepeat to his wife; for in an out-of-the-way corner of the universe,where little happens, the most trivial things are accounted of vitalinterest.
Now he had many questions to ask about Jack's recovery. It was a matterof household rejoicing in Lone-Rock that he had come back able to takehis old place among them. Mary satisfied his curiosity and gave a briefoutline of their doings while away, but she had questions of her own toask. How was Aunt Sally Doane? The Captain's wife was "Aunt Sally" bycourtesy to the entire settlement. Was her rheumatism better, and wasthe old red rooster still alive? Was it true that Mr. Moredock was anauthor, and how many young people had the new families brought withthem?
But all roads led to the Rome of her heart's desire, and between herquestions and the Captain's she kept jumping back, grasshopper-like, tothe subject uppermost in her mind. His cordial interest, unlike herfamily's half-hearted consenting, led her into further confidences.
"Jack wants me to wait awhile and study at home until he can afford tosend me back to Warwick Hall, but I might be in my twenties before thattime, and the girls in my classes would be so much younger that they'dlook upon me as a hoary old patriarch. Of course I'd be better equippedfor what I hope to do eventually, but it would give me such a latestart, and there are a number of things that I am fitted to do rightnow. Besides, it would handicap Jack to spend so much on me. It's onlynatural to expect that he'll want to marry and settle down some of thesedays, and he might not be able to do it as soon as he otherwise would ifhe had me to support and keep at college. And, Captain Doane, I don'twant to be just an old maid sister in somebody else's home, even if itis the home of the dearest brother in the world."
The Captain threw back his head and laughed until the steel-bowedspectacles slid down his nose again.
"Much danger of your being an old maid sister in anybody's home, in aplace like this where pretty girls are scarcer than hens' teeth," hedeclared, teasingly. "I know a likely young lad this minute who'd gladlysave you from that fate. He's been around several times lately,inquiring when you might be expected back."
Mary was nearly consumed with curiosity to ask who the likely lad was,but only shrugged her shoulders incredulously, knowing that that wouldbe the surest way of provoking him to a disclosure.
"Well, he _has_!" insisted the Captain. "It's young Upham, if you mustknow."
Mary's brows drew together in a vain effort to recall him, and she shookher head. "Upham? Upham? I never heard of him."
"Yes, yes, you have," insisted the Captain. "He drove a lumber wagon forthe company summer before last. But he's been to school in Tucson allthe time you've been away, and has just come back."
"Oh, you mean _Pink_ Upham!" exclaimed Mary, suddenly enlightened, withan emphasis which seemed to say, "Oh, _that_ boy! He doesn't count."
The Captain interpreted the emphasis and resented it.
"Just let me tell you, little Miss Disdain, he's a lad not to be sneezedat. He's come back the likeliest young man in all these parts."
Again Mary shrugged her shoulders and smiled unbelievingly. Herrecollection of Pink Upham was of a big red-faced fellow overgrown andawkward, with a disgusting habit of twisting every one's remarks intopuns, and of uttering trite truths with the air of just havingdiscovered them. The warning whirr of a clock about to strike made herspring down from the stool with an exclamation of surprise.
"I had no idea I was staying so long. I've an errand at the store too,so I'll have to hurry."
"Well, I'll see that your letter gets started all right," he assuredher. "You can't expect an answer before ten days at the earliest, canyou?"
She turned back from the door and stood, considering. "I had counted itat about that, but I didn't think--if they wait to hear from the peopleI've referred them to, especially those farthest away, it might bedouble that time. That would keep me waiting clear into October. Andthen suppose somebody were ahead of me, and I shouldn't get the place,there'd be all that time lost. It would be tragic to have the littleship I'd waited for so long, drift in a wreck."
"That's why I always hold that it's best to send out more than one,"said the Captain. "Launch a whole fleet of 'em, is my advice. What makeslife a tragedy for most people is that they put all their hopes on justone thing. They load all they've got on one vessel and then strain theireyes for a lifetime waiting for it to come back with all their hopesrealized. But if they'd divide their interests and affections around abit, and start them off in different directions, there'd never be adanger of total wreck. If one went down, there'd be some other cargo tolook forward to."
It was a pet subject of the old man's, and Mary made haste to ward offhis usual monologue by saying, "I'll certainly take your advice, CaptainDoane. You'll see me down here to-morrow with a whole harbor full oflittle ships. I'll launch all the applications that my family willallow."
The figure of speech pleased her, and as she walked on to the store avision of blue sea rose before her. On it she seemed to see a fleet oflittle boats with white sails swelling in the wind. On each sail was aletter and all together they spelled "Great Expectations."
"It's funny," thought Mary, "how such a picture popped right up in frontof me. Now, if Joyce had such a fancy she'd do something with it. Itwould suggest a title design or a tail piece of some kind. Oh, whywasn't I born with a talent for writing! My head is just full of thingssometimes that would make the loveliest stories, but when I try to putthem on paper it's like trying to touch the rainbows on a bubble. Thetouch makes them vanish instantly."
It was some crash towelling that she was to call for at the store.
When she opened the door, the place seemed deserted, but she picked herway, among barrels and boxes, saddles and hams, to the dry-goodsdepartment in the rear. Through the op
en back door she could see two menin the yard, one repairing a chicken-coop, and the other standing withhis hands in his pockets, watching the job. The man with the hammer andsaw, she knew. He was the manager of the store. The other was a newclerk, who had been installed in her absence. She glanced at himcuriously, for one reason because every newcomer counted for so much inthe social life of the place, for another because he was so imposinglylarge. "Even taller than Phil Tremont," she thought, and Phil was herstandard of all that a man should measure up to in every way.
Presently, seeing that the chicken-coop would occupy their attentionindefinitely unless she made some sign, she tapped on the floor with herheel. It was the new clerk who turned, and taking his hands out of hispockets, strode in to wait on her. She noticed that he had to stoop ashe came through the doorway. Then she almost forgot what it was she hadcome to buy, in her surprise. For it was Pink Upham who rushed up togreet her, still red-faced and awkward and facetious, but such adifferent Pink that she could understand why the Captain had spoken ofhim as Pinckney, instead of by his undignified nickname. The year atcollege had done him good.
While he measured off the crash she was taking his measure with quick,critical glances. It was not his pale, straw-colored hair she objectedto, made to look even paler by the contrast of his florid complexion andred four-in-hand with its turquoise scarf-pin. It was the way he combedhis hair that she criticized, and the gaudy tie and the combination ofcolors. But his cordial greeting softened her critical glances somewhat.He was genuinely glad to see her, and it was flattering to be welcomedso heartily.
That night at the supper table she recounted her adventures. "I met PinkUpham at the store to-day, Jack. How old do you suppose he is?"
"Oh, about twenty-one. Why?"
"Well, I scarcely knew him before we went away, and he called me by myfirst name as pat as you may please, and I didn't like it. And when herolled up the towelling he crooked his little finger in such anaffected, genteel, Miss Prim sort of way that it made his big fat handslook ridiculous. I don't know exactly what it was about him thatirritated me so, but I couldn't bear him. And yet it seemed that he wasso near being nice, that he could be awfully likable if he wasn't soself-conscious and queer."
"He's all right," answered Jack. "Pink is a good-hearted fellow, withthe best intentions in the world, but he's green. You see, he hasn't anysisters to call him down and make fun of his mannerisms and set himstraight on his color schemes and such things. Now, a girl in hisposition could get her bearings by going the rounds of the HomeMagazines and Ladies' Companions, reading all the Aunt Jenny Cornersand columns of advice to anxious correspondents. But there are not somany fountains of information and inspiration for a young man."
"Now, there's your mission in life, Mary," spoke up Norman. "You arestrong on giving advice and setting people straight. If you could onlyget some magazine to take you on for a column of that kind, you mightaccomplish a world of good. You could send marked copies to Pink, and itmight be the making of him."
Norman expected his teasing remarks to meet with an amusing outburst,and was surprised when she pretended to take his suggestion seriously.Her eyes shone with the interest it awakened.
"Say! I'd like that," she answered emphatically. "I really would. I'dcall it Uncle Jerry's Corner, and I'd certainly enjoy making up theletters myself so that I could have good spicy replies for mycorrespondents."
Norman, just in the act of drinking, almost choked on the laugh whichseized him. "Excuse me," he spluttered, putting the glass down hastily,"but Mary in the role of Uncle Jerry is too funny. Why, Sis, youcouldn't be a proper Uncle Jerry without chin whiskers. The editorswouldn't give such a column to anybody without them. A _girl_ couldnever fill a position like that."
"Indeed she could," Mary protested. "I knew a girl at school who earnedher entire spending money for a year, one vacation, by writing an AuntRuth's Column for the weekly paper in her home town. She was onlyeighteen, and the most harum-scarum creature you ever saw. She had beenengaged four times, and once to two boys at the same time. And she usedto lay down the law in her advice column like a Puritan forefather. Just_scored_ the girls who flirted and accepted valuable presents from men,and who met clandestinely at friends' houses.
"Her letters were so good that several parents wrote to the papercongratulating them on that department. And all the time she was doingthe very things which she preached against. She and Charlotte Tatwellwere chums, and in all sorts of scrapes together. Charlotte's fatherused to mourn over her wild ways and try to keep her from running somuch with Milly. He thought that Milly had such a bad influence overher. He hadn't the faintest idea that she wrote the Aunt Ruth advice,and twice, when it seemed particularly well aimed at Charlotte's faults,he made her sit down and listen while he read it aloud to the family.Charlotte thought it was such a good joke on her father that she neverenlightened him till he'd repeated the performance several times. Hewouldn't believe it at first, didn't think it possible that Milly couldhave written it, till Charlotte proved that she really had.
"If she could do that, I don't see why I couldn't write better advice toboys than a doddering old man who has only his recollections to draw on.I could criticize the faults that I see before me. Boys need to be shownthemselves as they appear to the girls, and I'm not sure but I'll act onNorman's suggestion, and take it up as a side-line."
When supper was cleared away Mary brought out her writing material andwrote several applications for the positions which she knew she wasqualified to fill. She could teach in the primary or grammar grades, ortake beginner's classes in Domestic Science. She knew that she couldadapt herself to almost any kind of person as companion, and herexperience with the Mallory twins made her confident that she could dowonders with small children, no matter how refractory. She soon had awhole fleet of applications ready to launch in the morning. Then,inspired by the conversation at the supper-table, she tried her hand ata few answers to imaginary correspondents, in which were set forthcertain criticisms and suggestions which she burned to make to Pink inperson, and several others which were peculiarly well fitted to Norman.
Next morning, when Norman came back from the store with the basket ofgroceries which it was his daily task to bring, he began calling forMary at the front gate, and kept it up all the way to the kitchen door.When she appeared, towel in hand, asking what was the matter, he set thebasket on the step.
Then with mock solemnity he reached into his pocket and pulled out alavender envelope; lavender crossed faintly with gray lines to give achecked effect. It was addressed in purple ink to Miss Mary Ware, and inthe lower left-hand corner was written, with many ornate flourishes, "K.O. B." It smelled so strongly of rose geranium perfume that Mary sniffeddisapprovingly as she took it.
"Pink asked me to bring it," said Norman with a grin. "He's to send aboy up for an answer at three o'clock. What do you suppose 'K. O. B.'stands for?"
Mary puzzled over it, shaking her head, then broke the large purpleseal.
"Oh, it must mean 'kindness of bearer,' for he begins the note thatway. 'By kindness of bearer I am venturing to send this little missiveto know if it will be convenient for you to give me the pleasure of yourcompany this evening. A messenger will call for your answer at three P.M. Trusting that it will accord with my desires, I am yours infriendship's bonds, P. Pinckney Upham.'"
Norman exploded with a loud "whoopee!" of laughter and Mary sniffedagain at the strong odor of rose geranium and handed the note to hermother, who had come to the door to see the cause of Norman's mirth.
"The silly boy," exclaimed Mary. "I told him yesterday, when he saidthat he hoped to call, that we'd all be glad to see him any evening hewanted to drop in. The idea of such formality in a mining camp. And suchpaper! And such flourishes of purple ink, to say nothing of the strongperfume! Mamma, I don't want him coming to see me."
Mrs. Ware handed the note back with a smile at Mary's disgustedexpression. "Don't judge the poor boy too severely. He evidently triedhis best to do
the proper thing, and probably thinks he has achievedit."
"Yes, Uncle Jerry," added Norman. "Here's your chance. Here's your tidein the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune!Just cultivate Pink's acquaintance and you'll get enough out of himevery week to fill your columns."
Mary ignored his teasing, turning again to her mother to say: "I don'twant to answer his note. What did he write for, anyway? Why didn't hejust come, as I told him he could?"
"That's the way Sara Downs' beau does," explained Norman. "He alwaysmakes an engagement so that she'll be sure to have the best room lightedup and Billy out of the way. He's too bashful to talk to the wholefamily. They usually go out to the kitchen when he comes, because theirhouse is so small."
"Well, this family won't," declared Mary. "He's no 'beau,' anyway.You'll all have to help entertain him."
She had not answered the note when Jack came home at noon, and shepassed it to him without comment. He smiled a little over her evidentdisgust, and repeated in substance what Mrs. Ware had said, that shemust not judge him too severely for his lack of social polish.
"He's a diamond in the rough, Mary," he assured her gravely, but with atwinkle in his eyes. "He may be one of the leading citizens of thestate twenty years from now, and even if he isn't, he's one of the fewyoung fellows of the settlement, and a decent one at that, and you can'tafford to snub him because he is green."
"Green Pink is a new kind of color," teased Norman. "Say, Mary, are yougoing to put a 'K. O. B.' on your answer?"
Mary ignored his question. It irritated her to be teased about Pink asmuch as it used to annoy her to be teased about the half-witted PeterFinn.
When, in answer to her note, P. Pinckney Upham called that evening, hedid not find her sitting up alone in state to receive him. He wasushered in to the cheerful living-room, where the entire family wasgathered around the lamp, putting a new dissected puzzle together.Before he knew how it came about his bashfulness had vanished and he wasa part of that circle. When the puzzle was completed Mary brought out achafing-dish and a bowl of nuts, which she commanded him to "pick out"while Jack cracked them. She was going to try a new kind of candy.Later, when he disclosed the fact that he could play a little on theguitar, Norman brought out his mother's, bidding him "tune up and plunkaway."
Now if there was one thing Pink was fond of it was sweets, and if therewas one thing he was proud of it was his tenor voice, and presently hebegan to feel that he was having the time of his life. They were allsinging with him, and stopping at intervals to pass the candy and tellfunny stories. He was a good mimic and had a keen sense of humor, and hewas elated with the consciousness that he had an appreciative audience.In spite of her certainty that the evening would be a bore, Mary foundherself really enjoying it, until she realized that Pink was having sucha good time that he didn't want to leave. Later she concluded that hewanted to go but didn't know how to tear himself away gracefully.
"Well, I guess I'd better be going," he said when the clock struck ten.It struck eleven when he said it the second time, and it was quarterpast when he finally pulled himself out of his chair and looked aroundfor his hat. They all rose, and Jack brought it. With that in hand, hestill lingered, talking at random in a way that showed his evidentinability to take his leave.
Finally Mrs. Ware put out her hand, saying, "We've enjoyed having youwith us so much, this evening, Pinckney. You must come often."
Jack echoed the invitation with a handshake, and Mary added gaily, "Andafter this, whatever you do, don't write first to announce your coming.We're used to the boys just dropping in informally. We like it so muchbetter that way."
Pink stopped to reply to that, hesitated with his hand on the knob, andleaning against the door, made some remark about the weather. It wasevident that he was fixed to stay until the clock struck again.
Mary reached up to the match-safe hanging near the door and handed him amatch. "I wish you'd scratch this as you go out, and see how thethermometer stands. It's hanging on the post just at the right hand ofthe porch steps. Call back what it registers, please. Thirty-six? Oh,thank you! I'm sure there'll be frost before morning. Good night."
She closed the door and came back into the room, pretending to swoonagainst Jack, who shook her, exclaiming laughingly, "I think that was afrost, right now."
Just then, Norman, who had disappeared an hour earlier, cautiouslyopened the door of his bedroom a crack. He was clad in his pajamas.Seeing that the coast was clear he thrust out a dishevelled head andrecited dramatically:
"'Parting is such sweet sorrow I fain would say goodnight until it be to-morrow.'"
Mary blinked at him sleepily, saying with a yawn, "Let this be a lessonto you, son. You can take this from your Uncle Jerry, that there is nosocial grace more to be desired than the ability to make a nimble andgraceful exit when the proper time comes."
As she turned out her light, later, she said to herself, "I'm glad Idon't have to look forward to a whole lifetime in Lone-Rock. One suchevening is pleasant enough, but a whole winter of them would bedreadful." Then she went to sleep and dreamed that her little fleet ofboats had all come home from sea, each one so heavily laden withtreasure that she did not know which cargo to draw in first.