"Yes, but Peter wants--has wanted for six years--to be a chemist--an expert, you know. Oh, I 'm not sure I ought to tell you--please never speak of it. Even father does n't know it's any more than a boy's fancy. Peter could n't afford the years of training, of course--and father can't spare him. There are"--as Forrest looked surprised--"more people dependent on father and the boys than you know of--and I must n't tell you. All I want you to know is that"--Jane smiled wistfully--"there are other people who can't have their own way--and who are making the best of it, and pretty bravely, too."
Mrs. Bell came to the door of the house, and with a pleasant nod and smile to Forrest, told Jane that a certain bowl of bread-dough had reached a critical condition of lightness. The girl picked up her basket, and Forrest bent to toss into it the weeds he had thrown out.
"Please don't feel I 'm an unsympathetic listener," begged Jane, as her visitor took his leave.
"I won't. I know you mean it all right. I just think you don't understand all the facts in the case. Much obliged to you for hearing me out. If I turn up missing some day, you 'll know you did your part, and gave me the proper grandmotherly advice." And Forrest swung away through the gate with a reckless air, which Jane thought rather melodramatic, and quite in keeping with a certain staginess sometimes apparent in the youth's bearing.
Jane's acquaintance with Olive Townsend had progressed very slowly. Olive was not a girl who possessed the gift of making many warm friendships. She was not well liked even by the young people of her own chosen circle. Girl visitors were not frequent at the Townsend house, and Olive was seldom seen coming or going with one or another of such friends. Yet there was something about her personality which held a strong attraction for Jane, and made her want to know Olive well.
When Peter returned from his first horseback ride in Olive's company, Jane had waited with interest for his description of the event. Peter always told Jane his experiences--for the reason, perhaps, that she never demanded them from him, never betrayed his confidences, and invariably showed her appreciation of his comradeship.
"She 's an odd girl," said Peter to Jane. "She seemed principally occupied, for the first two miles, in noticing how I rode, whether I kept elbows in, head up, back stiff, like herself, and whether I held my whip in the proper position. We jogged along at a fussy little pace, talking about nothing in particular, and minding our p's and q's as if we were at Professor Miller's riding academy, with the eye of the master on us."
"I hope she was satisfied with your correct style," Jane said. "I saw you start, and I thought you looked more at home in the saddle than she."
"I probably am. After riding everything on grandfather's farm ever since I was a little shaver, and breaking every colt he had for the three years we lived there, I ought to feel fairly comfortable on a model saddle-horse like the one she gave me. She's been trained in the school, which leaves a lot of things to be desired, to my way of thinking. She broke loose all right, though, when I got my chance to show her what my idea of the sport is."
Peter's face took on a comical expression, and Jane hurried him on with an eager "Well?"