“Oh, dear,” sighed my aunt. “It is her old trouble again. I suppose your coming excited her. She has little spells of forgetfulness and she wanders out to meet Jack, your father, secretly, forgetting that he is dead. After his father forbade him the house, she used to do that—to meet him at night and take him money and clothes—anything that she thought would help him. I don’t believe she’ll come to any harm. She never has. We’ll send old Martha for her, for it would hurt her feelings dreadfully if we were to go and if she were to realize that she has been wandering again. She’s very proud, you know.”
And, Oh, didn’t I know it, Carin! Never have I seen so much pride in such a little creature.
Aunt Lorena called old Martha, and the poor black thing, with her huge nightcap on, and a great flowered robe, and slippers that flopped at every step, ran sleepily out into the garden, calling:
“Ole Miss, ole Miss, where be ye? Cain’t ye answer Martha? She’s wanting ye bad! Please, ole Miss, where be ye?”
Aunt Lorena and I followed along behind, running down a long shaded walk which the moonlight mottled, till at last we came to a little pool. This was like a shield of bright steel, all shining and wonderful. There were rustling noises all about us which suited the place and the hour but which I did not understand.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“The swans. We have disturbed them.”
And just then, Carin, out into that glistening pool swam a coal black swan followed by two white ones. They didn’t seem like real birds but like some sort of a vision.
“It is just beyond the pond that mother used to go to meet your father,” said Aunt Lorena tenderly. I loved her for speaking like that. She was sorry for this old mother’s grief, and sympathized with the memories that haunted her and drove her from her bed. I put my arm right around her neck and kissed her.
“Oh, Aunt Lorena,” I said, “I think you are very sweet.”