The older woman smiled back at the tall girl who was following her. “I should be,” she said. Then, hearing her name spoken, she hastened into the large, homey living room, where the mother of Eleanor awaited them. “It was so good of you to come.” There were sudden tears in the eyes of the little woman, who was not yet strong. “It always makes me think of the old days, when I return here,” Mrs. Burgess continued, when they were seated about the wide, cheerful hearth. “I’ve been wondering so much about Dorinda.” Then, hopefully: “Mrs. Martin, you haven’t heard, have you? I know how much Dorinda cared for you, and I thought perhaps—”
But the principal of Vine Haven was shaking her head. “No, Eleanora, I never heard. That is, not more recently than you have. My last letter was when the little boy was eight.”
“They were on some island near Australia then,” Mrs. Burgess said, “but though I have written to the American consul, I have never received information that would lead to a knowledge of Dorinda’s whereabouts. I now believe that she is dead. I wish we might find her poor boy, if he is still living.”
“Don’t give up hope, Eleanora,” Mrs. Martin said. “I feel sure that you will find him some day. Now, there is another matter of which I wish to speak.”
Mrs. Burgess looked up with interest when the principal of Vine Haven said that she had made that early morning visit with some definite object in mind.
The older woman placed a hand, from which the glove had been removed, upon the slim white one that was lying on the arm of her chair.
“Eleanora,” Mrs. Martin’s voice was tenderly sincere, “you have had a great deal of trouble and misfortune and I do wish you would permit me to help you.”
According to a pre-arranged plan, Virginia had suggested that Eleanor show her about the old house, and so the two older women were alone.
“Help me?” Mrs. Burgess repeated. “Really, I don’t need help, though I truly appreciate your thought of me.”
It was very hard for Mrs. Martin to suggest that the proud younger woman accept what she believed would be charity. In fact, she just couldn’t do it. Then an inspiration came to aid her. Only the day before the teacher of the very youngest girls had asked for a leave of absence for two months, as she was needed in her home near Boston. Not waiting to think out a plan, Mrs. Martin said hurriedly: