CHAPTER XIV — A MAN FROM DOWN THE RIVER
Kenneth's first night in the old Gwyn house was an uneasy, restless one, filled with tormenting doubts as to his strength or even his willingness to continue the battle against the forces of nature.
Viola's night was also disturbed. Some strange, mysterious instinct was at work within her, although she was far from being aware of its significance. She lay awake for a long time thinking of him. She was puzzled. Over and over again she asked herself why she had blushed when he looked down at her as she was tying her bonnet-strings, and why had she felt that queer little thrill of alarm? And why did he look at her like that? She answered this question by attributing its curious intensity to a brotherly interest—which was quite natural—and the awakening of a dutiful affection—but that did not in any sense account for the blood rushing to her face, so that she must have reminded him of a "turkey gobbler." She announced to her mother at breakfast:
"I don't believe I can ever think of Kenny as a brother."
Rachel Gwyn looked up, startled. "What was that you called him?" she asked.
"Kenny. He has always been called that for short. And somehow, mother, it sounds familiar to me. Have I ever heard father speak of him by that name?"
"I—I am sure I do not know," replied her mother uneasily. "I doubt it. It must be a fancy, Viola."
"I can't get over feeling shy and embarrassed when he looks at me," mused the girl. "Don't you think it odd? It doesn't seem natural for a girl to feel that way about a brother."
"It is because you are not used to each other," interrupted Rachel. "You will get over it in time."
"I suppose so. You are sure you don't mind my going to the stores with him, mother?"
Her mother arose from the table. There was a suggestion of fatalism in her reply. "I think I can understand your desire to be with him." She went to the kitchen window and looked over at the house next door. "He is out in his back yard now, Viola," she said, after a long pause, "all dressed and waiting for you. You had better get ready."
"It will not hurt him to wait awhile," said Viola perversely. "In fact, it will do him good. He thinks he is a very high and mighty person, mother." She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. "I shall keep him waiting for just an hour."
Rachel's strong, firm shoulders drooped a little as she passed into the sitting-room. She sat down abruptly in one of the stiff rocking-chairs, and one with sharp ears might have heard her whisper to herself:
"We cannot blindfold the eyes of nature. They see through everything."
It was nine o'clock when Viola stepped out into her front yard, reticule in hand, and sauntered slowly down the walk, stopping now and then to inspect some Maytime shoot. He was waiting for her outside his own gate.
"What a sleepy-head you are," was her greeting as she came up to him.
"I've been up since six o'clock," he said.
"Then, for goodness' sake, why have you kept me waiting all this time?"
"My dear Viola, I was not born yesterday, nor yet the day before," he announced, with aggravating calmness. "Long before you were out of short frocks and pantalettes I was a wise old gentleman."
"I don't know just what you mean by that."
"I learned a great many years ago that it is always best to admit you are in fault when a charming young lady says you are. If you had kept me waiting till noon I should still consider it my duty to apologize. Which I now do."
She laughed merrily. "Come along with you. We have much to do on this fine May day. First, we will go to the hardware store, saving the queensware store till the last,—like float at the end of a Sunday dinner."
And so they advanced upon the town, as fine a pair as you would find in a twelvemonth's search. First she conducted him to Jimmy Munn's feed and wagon-yard, where he contracted to spend the first half-dollar of the expedition by engaging Jimmy to haul his purchases up to the house.
"Put the sideboards on your biggest wagon, Jimmy," was Viola's order, "and meet us at Hinkle's."
She proved to be a very sweet and delightful autocrat. For three short and joyous hours she led him from store to store, graciously leaving to him the privilege of selection but in nine cases out of ten demonstrating that he was entirely wrong in his choice, always with the naive remark after the purchase was completed and the money paid in hand: "Of course, Kenny, if you would rather have the other, don't for the world let me influence you."
"You know more about it than I do," he would invariably declare. "What do I know about carpets?"—or whatever they happened to be considering at the time.
She was greatly dismayed, even appalled, as they wended their way homeward, followed by the first wagonload of possessions, to find that he had spent the stupendous, unparalleled sum of two hundred and forty-two dollars and fifty cents.
"Oh, dear!" she sighed. "We must take a lot of it back, Kenny. Why didn't you keep track of what you were spending? Why, that's nearly a fourth of one thousand dollars."
He grinned cheerfully. "And we haven't begun to paint the house yet, or paper the walls, or set out the flower beds, or—"
"Goodness me!" she cried, aghast. "You are not going to do all that now, are you?"
"Every bit of it," he affirmed. "I am going to rebuild the barn, put in a new well, dig a cistern, build a smoke-house, lay a brick walk down to the front gate and put up a brand new picket fence—"
"You must be made of money," she cried, eyeing him with wonder in her big, violet eyes.
"I am richer now than when we started out this morning," said he, magnificently.
"When you say things like that, you almost make me wish you were not my brother," said she, after a moment, and to her annoyance she felt the blood mount to her face.
"And what would you do if I were not your brother?" he inquired, looking straight ahead.
Whereupon she laughed unrestrainedly. "You would be dreadfully shocked if I were to tell you,—but I can't help saying that Barry would be so jealous he wouldn't know what to do."
"You might find yourself playing with fire."
"Well," she said, flippantly, "I've got over wanting to play with dolls. Now don't scold me! I can see by your face that you'd like to shake me good and hard. My, what a frown! I am glad it isn't January. If your face was to freeze—There! That's better. I shouldn't mind at all if it froze now. You look much nicer when you smile, Kenny." Her voice dropped a little and a serious expression came into her eyes. "I don't believe I ever saw father smile. But I've seen him when he looked exactly as you did just then. I—I hope you don't mind my talking that way about your father, Kenny. I wouldn't if he were not mine as well."
"You knew him far better than I," he reminded her. Then he added brightly: "I shall try to do better from now on. I'll smile—if it kills me."
"Don't do that," she protested, with a pretty grimace. "I've been in mourning for ages, it seems, and I'm sure I should hate you if you kept me in black for another year or two."
As they parted at Kenneth's gate,—it seemed to be mutely understood that he was to go no farther,—they observed a tall, black figure cross the little front porch of the house beyond and disappear through the door. Kenneth's eyes hardened. The girl, looking up into those eyes, shook her head and smiled wistfully.
"Will you come over and help me put all these things where they belong?" he asked, after a moment.
"This afternoon, Kenny?"
"If you haven't anything else you would rather—" he began.
"I can't wait to see how the house will look when we get everything in place. I will be over right after dinner,—unless mother needs me for something."