And then she was gone. He watched her from the window walking along the pavement, with the feathers nodding at every step. Once she stopped and looked back—and the feathers seemed to wilt and die. Then she went on again—and this time she didn’t stop. She’d “ ’ad ’er year,” had Lizzie; maybe the remembrance of it helped her gallant little soul when she returned the barrel-organ—the useless barrel-organ.
“So this was your present, Jimmy.” Molly was speaking just behind him, and her eyes were very bright.
“Yes, Molly,” he smiled. “Do you like it?”
“I don’t understand what’s happened,” she said slowly. “I don’t understand anything except the one big fact that Peter has come back.”
“Isn’t that enough?” he asked gently. “Isn’t that enough, my dear? Peter’s come back—funny old Peter. The rest will keep.”
And then he took her left hand and drew off the engagement ring he had given her.
“Not on that finger now—Molly; though I’d like you to keep it now if you will.”
For a while she stared at him wonderingly.
“Jimmy, but you’re big!” she whispered at length. “I’m so sorry!” She turned away as Peter’s voice, weak and tremulous, came from the other room.
“Come in with me, old man,” she said. “Come in and talk to him.”