He was unlocking his trunk. Should she tell him about the letter that had evidently got lost? It somehow wouldn't be so easy as she supposed. And what was the use? Anyhow, here was Emmie trailing up-stairs with a rather downcast face, saying:
"Grandma thought I might come too and see Aunt Jerusha's—"
"Of course; and why not, I'd like to know?" said Ethan, with a welcoming look, as he tumbled his clothes out on the floor. It was awfully interesting—embarrassing, too. What a lot of things he had, for a man!
"I hope he isn't a dandy," thought Val, with a moment's misgiving. As a top-heavy pile of linen and flannel fell against her arm, she was conscious of an odd sense of pleasure, under her shrinking from the contact. It was as if he himself had touched her. Emmie knelt down and gathered up the things, and folded them with her characteristic clumsy helpfulness. These mechanical offices were as far from her limited range of dexterity as the wish to be of service was ever present in her amiable soul.
"Now, this was what I thought might do." He opened a box and took out an Indian silver necklace.
"Just the thing!" cried Val; "how she'll love the dangles!"
"And these for Venus, eh?" He laid down two bangles.
"Yes, yes."
"Think of Venus havin' 'em both," murmured Emmie, hanging over them, fascinated.
Val saw there were more silver ornaments in the little box, but Ethan was diving into the trunk again.