“And how about the lessons?” asked Mrs. Law.
Cassy looked a little crestfallen.
“The lessons weren’t quite as good as they are sometimes. You see,” she came close to her mother and fumbled uneasily with the hem of her apron. “You see, mother, I couldn’t help thinking about the garden all the time, and I came near being kept in ’cause I didn’t pay attention. Wouldn’t that have been dreadful?”
“It would have been pretty bad, for it has never happened to you, and I would have been very sorry to have had you come home with such a report.”
“But I remembered just in time, and I did pay attention the rest of the day. Are you tired, you poor mother, sitting here stitching, stitching all day long? If I could only have brought you a piece of that pie.”
“Do you think that would have rested me? I am not so very tired, for this is only Monday, you know.”
“Oh, Jerry,” Cassy turned to her brother, “we forgot to tell her what the nice boy said. Is he a boy or a young gentleman?”
“Oh, he’s just a boy,” said Jerry grandly, with the judgment of his superior years.
“His name is Rock, Rock Hardy, but his mother’s name is Dallas. That is the old Dallas place, you know, where the garden is, and Rock—Mr. Rock?” She looked inquiringly at Jerry who answered, “No, just Rock; he told me to call him that. His real name is Rockwell, but they call him Rock for short.”
“Well then, Rock said that he wished you would come to see his father. He is a railroad man and maybe he could get you that money.”