“No, I would not,” responded the professor, heartily, if absently. He was seeing, at that very moment, the little Dutch bed-chamber and his happy, careless lad, putting away with the forethought he exercised only upon his “work” the half-finished sketch he had just been over the hill to make. Octave laughed, and her laugh recalled the old man to the actual, and to the knowledge that their stage had drawn up before the white palings of an old-fashioned house, in whose wide doorway a group of curious young faces were pictured.
“We’re here!” said Octave, springing down and standing with a great show of dignity, while the professor clambered after her.
Then they walked up the gravel path together, and just before the group of watchers Octave paused.
“You see, I did come back; and this is—He!”
CHAPTER XVII.
Aunt Ruth was in great perplexity. She did not intend to let her mother see that she was but when had her tell-tale countenance ever hidden anything from the eyes which watched it so closely and fondly?
So it was of no avail that she sat quietly down with her sewing, by the open window of their pleasant apartment at the sea-side hotel where they were staying, and tried to look indifferent. Mother Amy’s gentle voice broke the stillness at once.
“What is it, Ruth?”
“How does thee know that there is anything? I mean—what does thee mean?”
“What is troubling thee, my child?” asked the old lady, smiling at Ruth’s confusion.