“It’s mighty good of you to take me in this way,” he said.
“Laws sake, what’s a spare room for?”
She led the way to a small room with white curtains at the windows and rag rugs upon the floor and a big silk crazy-quilt on an old four-poster bed. She hurried about and found soap and towels for him, and left him with the hope that he would make himself at home.
And at once he did feel at home. He felt at home just because Sally Winthrop was somewhere in the same house. That was the secret of it. He had felt at home in the station as soon as she appeared; he had felt at home in the village because she had walked by his side; and now he felt at home here. And by that he meant that he felt very free and very happy and 269 very much a part of any section of the world she might happen to be in. It had been so in New York, and it was so here.
He was downstairs again in five minutes, looking for Sally Winthrop. It seemed that Mrs. Halliday’s chief concern now was about supper, and that Sally was out in the kitchen helping her. He found that out by walking in upon her and finding her in a blue gingham apron. Her cheeks turned very red and she hurriedly removed the apron.
“Don’t let me disturb you,” he protested.
That was very easy to say, but he did disturb her. Then Mrs. Halliday shooed her out of the kitchen.
“You run right along now; I can attend to things myself.”
“I’d like to help, too,” said Don.
“Run along––both of you,” insisted Mrs. Halliday. “You’d be more bother than help.”