“But you’re not really a McBirney, are you? Those good mountain people haven’t really adopted you?”
“Not by law, ma’am,” smiled Azalea. “But what does that matter if we love each other?”
“And you have Miss Carin and her parents for your friends. That must be a great comfort to you.”
“Oh, indeed, they’re like flowers in the garden of the world,” cried Azalea with one of her pretty extravagant speeches.
“Indeed, I believe it, my dear. Yes, we are coming,” she called. “Did you think I had locked this dryad up in an oak tree?” she asked playfully, her arm about Azalea, as they came up to the gallery. Her husband threw a quick glance at her. He knew how to read the changes on her emotional face.
“Tut,” he said under his breath to her. “David again! You shouldn’t, mavourneen.”
“She’s a treasure, Bryan,” his wife whispered, indicating Azalea with a little nod of the head. “It never could do any harm to ease my heart to her.”
“Miss Pace thinks they must all be on their way, Mary Cecily,” he said aloud. “I must have the horses brought ’round.”
“Oh, have a taste of tea before you start,” pleaded Mrs. Rowantree. But Aunt Zillah as politely declined. So, presently, Zillah Pace and her three young people rode quietly beneath the lengthening shadows through the sweet smelling woodland to their home. This time, Aunt Zillah and Carin rode together, and Azalea’s pony tried in vain to keep pace with Keefe’s raw-boned horse. Keefe had much to say of the day.
“I was very happy the little time I stayed there at Rowantree Hall,” he said. “I understood their ways—understood the things they do and the things they don’t do—and what’s more I perfectly understand why they don’t do them. Rowantree himself amuses me, yet I’m fond of him. Mrs. Rowantree—well, she’s a little miracle.”