There were four seated at each table except at one, and there Gertrude Willis and Arthur Ellsworth sat alone. It was on the edge of the orchard, and Trudie, glancing up at the fleecy, slowly drifting clouds, saw emerging a slender crescent moon. From afar there wafted to them the sweet yet plaintive strains of “Drowsy Waters.”
“It is a wonderfully lovely night, isn’t it?” the girl said smiling frankly at the lad whose companionship she so enjoyed.
“Yes,” he replied, and then, as though following aloud a former train of thought, he asked, “Gertrude, shall you go this summer with the camping-party?”
“Oh, no, Arthur, I am needed at home, and, moreover, I shall try to find some mother who would like me to teach her little ones during vacation. A minister’s salary is not princely, you know,” she told him brightly.
For a moment the lad was thoughtful. “Gertrude,” he said at last, “we are young, I know, to speak of love, but if you think that in time you could care for me, I would be very glad,” then he hurriedly added, “I have spoken about it to my Aunt Louise and she said that she did wish that you would let her help you now, just as if you were really her niece, as I do hope that you will be some day.”
For a moment there was a happy light in Gertrude’s eyes, but when she replied, it was in the old frank way.
“Arthur,” she said, “I like you better than any one else whom I know, and if you do care when we are older, I will gladly become your aunt’s niece, but until then, I would rather not accept help.”
And with that Arthur had to be content.
CHAPTER THIRTY
FAREWELL, LINDEN HALL
The next day all was hustle and bustle at Linden Hall. Trunks were being packed and strapped, and Patrick, with Billie’s help, was carting them down the back stairs and loading them on a truck.