He got up and went to the window looking out into the dark street, and there came a vision to him of the girl as she had walked away, slim and proud. He knew what she was thinking. She was being afraid that they thought her one of the girls that ran after Murray. But strange to say, did not. If he had he would not have taken the trouble to rebuke Marie when she uttered her impudence. Girls who ran after boys were fools. They deserved all they got. But this girl was different. One could see that at a glance, one could tell it by the first word from her gentle lips. She was the kind of a girl who grew up in the country and went to church Sundays. She had eyes that saw birds and flowers in spring and loved them. He had known such a girl once when he was a boy in the country, and he had been the worst kind of a fool that he did not stay on the farm and marry her, and have a big happy home full of loving kindness and children’s voices, and a wide hearth with a big log fire, and pancakes for supper. Buckwheat pancakes, and maple syrup.
Deliberately he turned away from the window and walked upstairs to his own back room, where he switched off the light, drew up the shade and looked out across the back alley to the bright little kitchen window with the table with the snowy cloth. There was a pie on the table tonight, and it looked like an apple pie, with the crust all dusted over with powdered sugar, the kind his mother used to make. There would be cottage cheese with the pie, perhaps. Oh! Some one had come to the window and was closing the blinds. It was the girl! She had taken her hat off and laid it on the corner of the table, and her bright hair gleamed in the light from the street lamps as she bent her head to release the fastening. Then she straightened up, pulled the shutters to with a slam, and shot the bolt across with a click. As if she knew she was shutting him out and she wanted to do it!
XXIII
Before Murray could quite take in all that that letter might mean to him, Mrs. Summers knocked on his door.
“Mr. Murray, Doctor Harrison wants to speak with you on the phone. He tried to get you twice last night before you came in. I forgot to tell you about it, it was so late. Can you come right down? He seems to be in a good deal of a hurry.”
“Sure! I’ll be there in half a second!” said Murray, springing out of bed and drawing on some garments hastily.
He hurried down to the telephone.
The minister’s voice came anxiously to him:
“Murray, is that you? Well, I’ve been trying to get you. You know your church letter came while you were away at the convention.”
“Letter?” said Murray, quite innocently, and thought sharply of the letter upstairs. Things were closing in about him. The minister probably had one too.