“A-a neighbor, did you say, mother?” asked Mr. Bryant, “Why, I don’t seem to remember her. Where does she live?”
“No, I guess you don’t, father, she’s mostly been here when you were away. She lives on this street. Cornelia, won’t you have another cup of coffee?”
And then there came a shuddering, sliding sound, and a dull, reverberating thud, that vibrated along the floor, and seemed to make the dinner table shiver a tiny bit and everybody looked up and said, “Why, what is that? An earthquake?” and only Mrs. Bryant kept her cool indifference, and went on pouring coffee. But outside the little vine covered house had slid into place between the two maples, and settled to rest exactly where it had been aimed by the three men who had put it there, and Joyce was out in the sunset fluttering three five dollar bills from her precious hoard and smiling her wistful, wild rose smile:
“I wish I could give you ten times as much,” she said, “If I only had it! You’ve been so kind.”
The old chief stood a minute and watched her as she went in, looked at the bill, half folded it to put in his pocket, thought better of it and stepped inside the building. He glanced about, fumbled a pin from the lapel of his old coat and pinned it up on the wall opposite the door. Tom watched him from a distance, squinting his eyes thoughtfully, busied himself with his dinnerpail and pickaxe till the chief was around the corner, when he slipped into the cottage, took a look around, stood thoughtful a minute and deliberately took out his own five dollar bill and pinned it beside the other. Then he went out quickly and followed his chief down the street.
Over in the kitchen Joyce, too weary to eat much supper had taken a bite and gone at the dishes pell mell. She was a swift worker and used to turning things off rapidly, but the last two days had been more strenuous than any in her short life, and now that the immediate excitement of the dinner and the house were over, she was beginning to feel that she had reached her limit.
Mrs. Bryant slipped away from her guests long enough to smile upon her, and tell her to eat a good supper, that everything was wonderful, and she couldn’t thank her enough; then went back to the parlor where the chatter of relatives long separated with many years to check up in a short time made a din almost amounting to a church social. There was the uncle who had certain jokes that he had to tell over, and the cousin who boasted, and the cousin who wanted to recount all the past, and the aunt who wanted to forget the past and dilate on her house in New York, and her place in Maine, and her winter in Florida and the trip she was going to take abroad this summer, and with it all the poor, eager little Bryants hardly got in a word. The strange young woman in the kitchen might naturally be forgotten under such circumstances, especially as they were planning to take all their guests into the city in time for the late train.
So Joyce washed out the dish towels and slipped out the back door with only the moon to light her to her little new house.
CHAPTER XI
Joyce wondered, as she went cautiously through the grass lest she stumble in the darkness, whether her house was going to be at all habitable, and what she should do if it were not. She had no mind to trouble Mrs. Bryant any further, neither did she care to have that good woman know how thoroughly she was adrift in the world without a spot to lay her head. Very likely Mrs. Bryant might offer her a bed for the night, it would be like her good nature, and yet, she was an utter stranger, and she shrank from accepting such a favor. Taking an entire stranger into one’s home was a big thing to do, when one had no introduction whatever except that one could cook.