“But not fun for me.” Aunt Katherine’s eyes filled with tears. For a person of Aunt Katherine’s character to cry openly like that was as extraordinary a happening as though she had suddenly begun walking on her hands. Only Katherine dared speak to her or try to offer comfort. She put her arms around her shoulders, and led her to a chair. There she made her sit down, and knelt by her side, leaning her head against her arm, stroking her hand.
“Dear, dear, Aunt Katherine. Don’t, don’t,” she besought. “We can’t bear it. Oh, what have I done to you! What have we both done to you, Nick and I? Forgive us, Aunt Katherine. Love us again.”
At that, even in the midst of her tears, Aunt Katherine laughed, and as before Kate remembered the brook. “Again!” Aunt Katherine exclaimed. “Did you think I had ever stopped loving either of you mad children?”
Nick nodded. “I have forfeited your affection right enough. I understand why you couldn’t meet me, Aunt Katherine, two weeks ago when I asked you to. At least I understand now. I shouldn’t have asked it. But how else were we to decide about Elsie?”
Aunt Katherine looked up at her adopted nephew, remembering. “But of course I did go to meet you,” she said. “Did you think I wouldn’t! I read the day, though, ‘Thursday’ instead of ‘Tuesday.’ It’s not often I blunder so stupidly. Then I made frantic efforts to locate you. But you had vanished. There wasn’t a trace. I set private detectives to work. To-day they took me all the way to Springfield on a wild-goose chase. They were sure they had located you there. Clever, those detectives!”
Aunt Katherine dried her eyes thoroughly as she spoke. She was scornful of her tears. “That excursion has tired me,” she explained. “The disappointment of it. I was so downhearted. Then having you suddenly here again, right here at home, without warning, safe and happy—well, perhaps a sphinx would cry.”
It was Nick’s turn to kneel and rub his cheek against Aunt Katherine’s shoulder. She lifted a hand and stroked his hair. Kate, too, got as close to her aunt as she could. Only Elsie stood aloof, for an instant not in any way part of the group. It was Aunt Katherine who beckoned her, and took her hand.
“Elsie,” she said, “I have been thinking you hard and selfish because you kept my rule not to mention your father. I have wanted to speak with you of him, but every time I led up to it I thought you drew away. It seemed to me that you were suffering, not for him, but for your own wounded vanity. Now I understand better. Perhaps, in time, you will forgive me.”
Then it was Elsie’s turn to cry, and she did it so whole-heartedly that the family devoted its complete attention to calming her.
It was later that Miss Frazier exclaimed as though she had just remembered it: “So you two children are to be married, and Katherine become a Frazier again! I wonder what Oakdale will say to that turn of affairs!”