I smiled, the tone was so frank, one of those full round tones that inspire confidence. But I had to excuse myself and interview Jolette about the dinner.
When I returned he and father were in full tide about relatives who had died, and who had married, who had gone away, and about his own sisters, married to farmers and interested in their own lives. It seemed delightful, as if one was reading an entertaining book.
Dan did not come home to dinner, he often took it at the nearest hotel when he was busy. After father's rest we had the carriage ordered up and took a drive first along the shore of the magnificent lake, then over in the prairies. There were acres and acres of corn standing in ranks, their feathery golden helmets blowing about, their uniform of richest green dazzling in the sunlight. They looked so strong, so masterful, almost as if they might start, and march you down with human power. The boy was wild with enthusiasm. It had an odd effect upon father. His eyes brightened, the set lines in his face seemed to fill out, he looked glad and happy, and it thrilled me in every nerve. I did love him so in his misfortune.
It was quite late in the afternoon when Dan came home. I had been arranging the supper table between whiles looking after some choice cookery I did not want to trust altogether to Jolette. He walked straight in.
"Who's that on the stoop hobnobbing with your father?" he asked in surprise.
"Oh, Dan, it's a new John Gaynor from father's old State, and it's so queer how it all came about," glancing up eagerly.
I began at the very beginning, the letter from Mrs. Gaynor.
"Well, I think I might have been informed of the matter instead of having it kept a secret from me," he exclaimed resentfully.
"But, Dan, you see you were at Galena, and then your father was so ill and all that. It really went out of my mind. Father supposed Mrs. Gaynor would write again."
"Did your father send for that fellow?" His tone was stern and there was an angry flash in his eye. It roused resentment within me.