“But where we are our own housekeepers,” said Christine brightly, “we can have it as spick and span as we choose. Don’t get discouraged, Allie, before we really get there.”
“No, it’s too early in the game to throw up your hand,” said Neal.
“I’m not homesick,” Alison protested; yet, just then, with the remembrance of Aunt Brown’s neat orderly home and the familiar faces she had left behind, there was mingled a slight feeling of regret at having exchanged quiet ease for this wild place.
Christine, however, had no regrets. To her the end of the morrow’s long ride meant the meeting towards which her thoughts had tended during many months. She watched her brother and his friend depart and stood long by the window seeing nothing but the new home in the prairie, hearing nothing but Stephen’s voice again calling her name.
“You look as happy as a lark,” said Alison, turning her gaze from the crude sights of the village to her sister.
“I am happy,” returned Christine. “We shall soon be all together in our own home. Isn’t that enough to make any one happy?”
“There come John and Mr. Jordan,” said Alison, her eyes again wandering to the street. “What a queer little place this is. The best house in it isn’t as good as Aunt Miranda’s.”
“Did you expect it would be?”
“I expected the best here would be as good, though I knew ours would not be.”
Christine smiled, and at this moment John and his friend entered the little room which served as parlor and office.