Joanne and her grandfather joined Mrs. Selden at a small hotel in the mountains, a short distance from where Mrs. Ned Pattison’s sister lived. One could scarcely call it a hotel, though it was dignified by the name of Laurel Inn, for it was simply a rambling old house to which a wing had been added, and which afforded room for about twenty guests. It was kept by two sisters who prided themselves upon the class of their boarders. It suited Mrs. Selden exactly. She enjoyed sitting on the broad porch with other elderly ladies who swayed back and forth in their rocking chairs, chatted amiably over their fancy work, and exchanged patterns for tatting or crocheted lace.
Poor little Joanne found it rather dull after the companionship of her girl friends. But she had made a steady resolve to be cheerful no matter what, and had determined to work at certain tests so that she might win more badges when the time came. So one might find her any time sitting under a tree poring over her Morse code or studying her First Aid textbook.
Among the young married women were several with small children. Most of these had nurses with them, but one rather delicate looking mother cared for her child herself. Joanne noticed that when almost every one else went off for a nap in the afternoon, Mrs. Hooper sat out with her little boy, keeping him as far from the house as she could in order that he might not disturb the nappers. One rainy day, however, they were housed, and it was as much as Mrs. Hooper could do to keep the little one quiet.
Joanne, sitting in a corner reading, looked up once in a while to see the baby fretting and his mother trying her best to entertain him. Finally Joanne could stand it no longer. Down went her book and she hurried to where Mrs. Hooper sat by the window.
“Let me play with Bertie a while, won’t you?” she said.
“Why, my dear, I’m afraid he will bother you,” returned Mrs. Hooper.
“Oh, no, he won’t,” Joanne assured her. “Let us see how it works, and if he fusses I’ll give in.”
“These rainy days are so trying,” returned Mrs. Hooper. “Bertie gets so restless when he can’t go out.”
“I get restless myself,” Joanne answered. “My grandmother thinks I will melt away entirely if a raindrop falls on me, not that she thinks I am made of sugar, but of some very meltable material.”
Mrs. Hooper laughed. “You certainly are sweet to offer to amuse my boy. I don’t like to take him out on the sun porch where the other children and the nurses are; he is so little, and I don’t enjoy the society of the nurses particularly. Probably they wouldn’t enjoy mine, so I generally keep Bertie to myself.”