CHAPTER XXII
A TRANQUILLIZING BREEZE AND A HOT WIND
After Martin had left her, Margery sat on the root of the tree until Mr. Clyde came up and said he had been wondering what had become of her.
“I have been wondering that, myself,” she said. “At least, I have been wondering what is going to become of me.”
“Don’t you intend to be a hermit?” said he.
She shook her head. “I don’t think it is possible,” she answered. “There is no one who is better satisfied to be alone, and who can make herself happier all by herself, and who, in all sorts of ways, can get along better without other people than I can, and yet other people are continually interfering with me, and I cannot get away from them.”
Clyde smiled. “That is a pretty plain hint,” he said. “I suppose I might as well take it, and go off to some hermitage of my own.”
“Oh, nonsense!” said Margery. “Don’t be so awfully quick in coming to conclusions. I do feel worried and troubled and bothered, and I want some one to talk to; not about things which worry me, of course, but about common, ordinary things, that will make me forget.”
A slight shade came over the face of Mr. Clyde, and he seated himself on the ground near Margery. “It is a shame,” said he, “that you should be worried. What is it in this peaceable, beautiful forest troubles you?”