“Harries declares she sent him to the smithy,” Kit remarked.
Alison looked surprised, but she resumed: “A man said another train was going, but when I found out where it loaded I had crossed the bridge. The men thought the train would not wait long and I did not go back for Carrie. I wanted to see you, Kit.”
Kit noted that her color had come back; in fact, he thought it rather high.
“If I had missed you I’d have started for Fairmead in the morning,” he said. “You are going to England?”
“I must go; perhaps I ought not to have waited for the cablegram. My aunt at Whinnyates is very ill.”
“But you have recently got a better post, and Bob states if you stay at the creamery they’ll make you head clerk.”
“Oh, well, I mustn’t think about that. My aunt was very kind and my uncle’s old. When my mother died I stayed with them and I owe them something. You see, they’re old-fashioned, lonely people, Kit, and they don’t care for strangers. I am their relation and now they want me I cannot refuse.”
Kit agreed, but he was disturbed. In fact, he dared not speculate about his emotions. Perhaps the proper line was to joke.
“But what about the feast we fixed to celebrate our triumph? I’m not yet famous and your aunt may want you for some time.”
“That is so,” said Alison, soberly. “If she does not get better, I may be forced to stay for good. However, if I do come back, I’ll be your guest for dinner when you are famous.”