Her companion looked around at her tenderly, but her large eyes were gazing between the horses' heads. "My poor little girl," he said, and at his tone Clover glanced at him in surprise. "Is the mother not so well?" he asked. "Something depresses you."
"I do not think she is worse," answered the girl slowly, but her eyes moistened, and she looked away.
"I understand. It is hard for you to be the head of the family. You will grow old before your time."
Clover became afraid that she should cry. She looked resolutely at the antics of a gopher on the fence.
"I have been growing young ever since we started," she answered lightly at last. "I did feel haggard with age early this morning."
She might have added, and at every hour of the night; for her novel problems would not let her sleep.
"I hope you mean to tell me your troubles always," said Mr. Van Tassel.
"That is very good of you," returned the girl, turning her head and giving her companion a faint April smile, "and very tempting too. Even though I am nearly certain that you cannot help me, I am weak enough to wish to talk to you of what I must repress at home."
"I am glad to hear that," returned the other gravely, "gladder than I can express."
So Clover told him of her uncle's debt to Mr. Bryant, of the small allowance he had consequently made her mother, and of the fact of its cessation; and while she still talked, their swift horses left the Midway Plaisance and entered Jackson Park, quiet and refreshing at this hour of the morning. The broad green field in its centre was studded with haystacks whose perfume filled the air. Robins, thrushes, and catbirds lurked in the quiet groves, and swans sailed majestically on the lakelets where soon the Eskimo canoes would be equally at home.