“Maida—Maida! Here’s me!”
“Jeffrey!” she cried, springing from the window-seat, and out to greet him.
“Dear!” he said, as he took her in his arms. “Dear, dearer, dearest! What is troubling you?”
“Trouble? Nothing! How can I be troubled when you’re here?”
“But you are! You can’t fool me, you know! Never mind, you can tell me later. I’ve got three whole days—how’s that?”
“Splendid! How did it happen?”
“Old Bennett went off for a week’s rest—doctor’s orders—and he said, if I did up my chores, nice and proper, I could take a little vacation myself. Oh, you peach! You’re twice as beautifuller as ever!”
A whirlwind embrace followed this speech and left Maida, breathless and laughing, while her father smiled benignly upon the pair.
It was some hours later that, as they sat under the big sycamore, Jeffrey Allen begged Maida to tell him her troubles.
“For I know you’re pretty well broken up over something,” he declared.