Not till the very bottom of the trunk had been reached was it emptied of its last gift, and then there was plenty of need for the mother’s help; for the putting away of her scattered wardrobe was a task to which Kate could not quiet her excited nerves. She was almost too happy to eat, but the supper Aunt Milly had made ready would have put the edge of appetite on satiety itself.
“Why, Aunt Milly, a body’d think I was a regular prodigal, to have such a feast as this set out for me,” she declared, at the close of the meal, when it seemed as if every one of her favorite dainties had been heaped upon her plate in turn, but the old woman shook her head at this with emphasis.
“No ye ain’t, honey,” she said, “your Aunt Milly never did have no use for prodigals” (she would probably not have recognized any member of her family in that character, however he might have wasted his substance), “but I allers did ’low that them that’s a comfort to you were the ones to fix for. ’Pears to me that was a terrible mean-spirited man in the Bible that never let ’em set out a kid or anything for the boy that was so good ’n’ steady. I’d have done it, if I’d been cookin’ for ’em, sure nuff I would.”
It was, perhaps, the devoted old servant who had pined most for Kate’s return, and it was certainly she who was most anxious to have the girl all to herself now that she had fairly come. Mrs. Northmore could wait. The things she cared most to know would be learned best in the unsolicited confidences of the days that were coming, and she feigned some errand for herself in the edge of evening which gave the girl a chance to sit for a little while in the kitchen, with the old woman questioning her and crooning over her out of the depths of an abounding love.
“We’ve missed you powerful bad, honey,” she said, rocking back and forth, with her eyes fixed in a beaming content on the girl’s face. “’Spect they didn’t put much of it into the letters, but I tell you your ma’s been mighty lonesome some of the time. I could see it, if the rest couldn’t; and your pa—you could tell how he felt by the way he fretted if the letters didn’t come jes’ so often. And ’tween you ’n’ me he didn’t like it much to have Esther stay all winter, only your ma worked him round, the way she has, you know. Bless your heart, if they’d wanted you to stay too, dunno what would ’a’ happened to us. ’Spect this yer ole woman would ’a’ been dead ’n’ gone before spring. I’ve been pinin’ for you all summer.”
“But I shouldn’t have stayed if they had wanted me,” Kate said cheerfully, and then she added with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, “but really, Aunt Milly, you don’t look as if you had been pining. It rather seems to me you’ve grown a little stouter since we went away.”
“Laws now, Miss Kate,” cried Aunt Milly, “that’s jes’ some o’ your jokin’.” Then, smoothing her ample front with an uneasy expression, she added beseechingly: “But you can’t tell by the looks o’ folks what’s goin’ on inside of ’em. I was powerful puny a spell back. Your pa’ll tell you how much medicine he giv’ me.” Then, her face brightening again: “But you or’ to see the way I began to pick up when the day was set for you to come home. ’Peared like the misery jes’ cleared out of itself, an’ I reckon I did get back the flesh I lost, with maybe a little more,” she ended serenely.
“Well, I hope the misery’ll stay away for good, now I’ve come,” said Kate, laughing. The sound of voices in the hall told her that a bevy of friends had come to welcome her home, and with another smile at Milly she was off to meet them, and to begin all over again the account of her beautiful summer.
The warmth with which the Western town greets its returning children is one of the pleasant things to have known in one’s journey through life. For the next few days Kate’s time was full, responding to the welcome of her friends, asking and answering questions, and adjusting herself again to her own place.
There was one friend for whom she inquired early, and of him Mrs. Elwell brought the fullest report when she brought her own greeting to the girl next morning. Morton had hardly been at home all summer. He had been busy, first at one thing, then another, as Kate knew, and now—it was quite a sudden move—he was with an engineering party in an adjoining county. It seemed he had given some special attention to surveying during the last year in college, and, like everything else he gave his mind to, had it so well in hand that it turned to his use and advantage. The work would keep him a few weeks longer, which would make him late in getting back to school, but the pay was so good he had felt he must make the most of his chance. She gave one of those little sighs which every one understood when she talked of her nephew, and then her face brightened as she added, “But he’ll certainly come home before he goes back to college, and we shall see him before so very long.”