“I see,” she nodded. “And ye kind of hoped it might wake up Sally too?”
“I took a chance,” he smiled.
“Well, now, as long as ye seem so anxious I’ll tell ye something; maybe it did. Anyhow, I heard her movin’ round afore I came down. Draw a chair up to the stove and make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.”
The dry heat from the burning wood was already warming the room. Outside he heard the morning songs of the birds. It no longer seemed early to him. It was as though the world were fully awake, just because he knew now that Sally was awake. For a few minutes Mrs. Halliday continued her tasks as though unmindful that he was about. It was such a 297 sort of friendly acceptance of him as part of the household that he began to feel as much at home here as though it were his usual custom to appear at this hour. There was something more friendly about even Mrs. Halliday’s back than about the faces of a great many people he knew. It looked as though it had borne a great many burdens, but having borne them sturdily was ready for more. It invited confidences. Then the teakettle began to bubble and sing and that invited confidences too. He was choking with things he wished to say––preferably to Sally herself, but if that were not possible, then Mrs. Halliday was certainly the next best confidante. Besides, being the closest relative of Sally’s it was only fitting and proper that she should be told certain facts. Sooner or later she must know and now seemed a particularly opportune time. Don rose and moved his chair to attract her attention.
“Mrs. Halliday––” he began.
“Wal?” she replied, without turning. She was at that moment busy over the biscuit board.
“There’s something I think I ought to tell you.”
She turned instantly at that––turned, adjusted her spectacles, and waited.