So Alfaretta came forward, a new modesty upon her and a change for the better in her whole appearance, even after so short a time as this one summer. And both happening to recall how she had greeted him when first this “hero” was presented to her, they laughed and the “ice” which had formed over their friendship during separation speedily melted.
“Pa Babcock, you’re askin’ for? Oh, he’s well, that kind don’t never have nothing the matter with their health, though they’re always thinking they have. He stopped with his sister till she got tired and shook him. Then he went to Chicago, where there’s such a lot of silly Nanarchists like himself, and there he’s stayed. I hope will stay, too, till the children get growed. He seems to be makin’ his salt, some kind of livin’, and he’s happy as a clam in high water. He hasn’t a thing to do but talk and talkin’ suits him to a T. Best come in and get washed up. A letter come from Dorothy’s parents and the pair of ’em will be to the Landing by the evening boat. Or one by train and one by boat. Anyhow they’ll both be there and I ’low they’d admire, just admire that it should be you drove down to meet ’em. Me and Alfy and Dinah’ll be right on hand here to see they get their supper and to show ’em where they’re to sleep. You best hurry down to your own room to the gate-house and clean yourself. You’re powerful dusty and your face needs washin’. Alfy! What you gigglin’ at? Ain’t I tellin’ the truth? Ain’t he a sight?”
“Yes, Ma, he is; one ‘good for sore eyes,’ as you sometimes say;” and with this inelegant remark Miss Alfaretta walked away while laughing, happy Jim sped downwards to the vine-wreathed lodge at the great entrance gate. He had been happy all that summer, never more so; yet happier than ever now as he stepped into the freshly furbished upper chamber which was his own, his very home. All the dear familiar books on the shelves, the snowy bed, the dainty neatness of the place that showed the motherly touch of old Griselda everywhere, even to the bunch of flowers upon the little table.
Dolly would have said that the bouquet looked “Dutchy,” like the kind hands which had arranged it; with its conflicting colors and its tightly crowded bunches of bloom. But Dorothy wasn’t there to comment, there was nobody who could see him, and the orphan lad who had not yet outgrown his boyish tenderness suddenly stooped and kissed it. Was this in memory of a mother he had never known, or because of his gratitude for his “home?”
CHAPTER XVI
WHEN JOURNEYS END IN WELCOME
“Welcome! Welcome! WELCOME!!”
The blacksmith, “himself once more” and not the summer idler on a hotel veranda, stood at Mrs. Betty’s right hand on the broad steps of Deerhurst, to greet the carriages of happy folk who were whirled over the curving driveways and up to the hospitable door which stood wide open, as if eager to embrace them all in its own genial “welcome.”