“Have you been pulling that hair out again?” said Glenn, with a sort of proprietary right.
“No, but I’ve been cutting it off.”
“You haven’t!” These words held the heat of indignation.
“If you don’t believe it, I’ll prove it.”
She stepped over to him as she drew something from her belt and pressed it in his hand.
“You know Christmas never came to you from me before.” Just at that minute Mr. Campbell came in. He settled himself in his own rocking chair with a sigh of relief, as though he were hypnotized by the warmth of the room. He talked on and on, selecting topics upon which neither seemed to have an idea. Esther had made her a lot of pillows out of some old silk dresses of quaint patterns, and as she sat amongst them, she was almost afraid to breathe lest she split them. They smelled very strongly of tobacco, having been so long packed away in its leaves.
Glenn Andrews felt something soft and slim between his fingers, but it puzzled him to know what the texture was. He was restless with curiosity.
Esther enjoyed his perplexity with quiet amusement, and was sorry when after a great while her grandfather thought out for himself that young folks enjoyed themselves better alone.
Glenn turned slyly to see him close the door after him.
It was very interesting, this expectancy; he felt something as he did when a child he had lain awake all night waiting for Santa Claus to come.