Mr. Smith limped to the library door and looked out. He had meant to send word that the trunk should be retained at the railway station for the present, or until he should find out to whom Josephine had really been “consigned,” and asked, in vexation:
“Come already, has it? Humph! If it had been something I wanted in a hurry, they’d have taken their own time about delivering it. Said they couldn’t handle goods in a storm, and such nonsense. I don’t see, Peter, as it need be taken upstairs. Have it put in the storeroom, where it will be handier to get at when she leaves.”
Both Peter and Josephine heard him with amazement.
“What is that, Uncle Joe? That ‘when I leave.’ Have I—have I been so—so saucy and forgetful that—that you can’t let me stay?”
“No, no, child. I merely meant— There, don’t look so distressed. You are here for the day, anyway, because none of us can go trudging about in such weather. I’ll telephone for— There. No matter. It’s right. It’s all right. Don’t, for goodness sake, cry. Anything, anything but that. Ugh! my foot. I must get out of this draught,” he almost yelled.
Josephine was very grave. She walked quietly to Uncle Joe’s side, and clasped the hand which did not hold a cane with both her own.
“It’s dreadful funny, seems to me. Aren’t we going to stay in this house all the time? I wish—I’m sorry I spoke about the box and the heatheny money. But if you don’t mind, I must, I must, get into my trunk. The key is in my satchel in my room. Mamma put it there with the clean clothes I wore last night. She said they would last till the trunk came; but that as soon as ever it did I must open it and take out a little box was in it for you. The very, very moment. I must mind my mamma, mustn’t I?”
“Yes, child, I suppose so,” he slowly returned.
Mr. Smith was now in his reclining chair, with his inflamed foot stretched out in momentary comfort. He spoke gently, rather sadly, in fact, as he added:
“My child, you may open your trunk. I will never counsel you to do anything against your mother’s wishes. She seems to be a sensible woman. But there has been a mistake which I cannot understand. I am Joseph Smith. I have lived in this house for many years, and it is the street and number which is written on the tag you showed me. Do you understand me, so far?”