“It’ll do him a world of good!” she said. “You don’t know how we’ve both worried about you, Billy.”
While she was talking, Billy was watching her; he was trying to decide where her smile left off.
When she said she could manage the part about Uncle John, Billy said:
“Are you sure your face won’t give it away?”
“Do I look as glad as that?” she asked, putting her hand up to her face. “No,” she went on, “he’ll think it’s because you have been home.”
Billy looked around. The potatoes by the fence had been dug, and Uncle John had smoothed the ground all down again. He wouldn’t have been John Bradford if he hadn’t done that.
“Home’s the best place, isn’t it, Aunt Mary?” said Billy, with a little sigh of happiness.
Then he remembered that he must manage Aunt Mary, too. He must try to get around it so that she wouldn’t suspect anything. When he thought of the right way, it seemed very simple.
“Aunt Mary,” he said, “if you had an automobile, where do you think you would go first?”
That surely ought to throw her off the track, for she could never expect to have an automobile.