The April morning was fresh and clear. Janet found her Cousin Andrew waiting for the rest and reading quietly in the large living room. “Good morning, Janet,” said he. “Did you sleep well in your new quarters?”
“I haven’t quite grown accustomed to them yet,” replied Janet, who had decided not to mention her fright of the night before, “but I thought that I would never waken this morning. Some one had to call me twice.”
“The storm was disturbing,” replied Andrew. “You can see what a wreck I am, Janet. It is a good thing that Jan is coming to brighten life here for you. He wrote to me and asked me to ‘beg off on school’ for him, to my father.”
Janet looked into her cousin’s amused eyes, but she was thinking of what he said about his being a ‘wreck’. “You were in the war, weren’t you, Cousin Andy?”
“Yes,—shell-shocked, shot up in a few places that seem to do as much damage as possible. But at that I’m better off than thousands of the boys, forgotten in the hospitals now.” Andrew’s voice was a little bitter. “Don’t ask me to tell you about it, child. It’s better for me to do the forgetting. I’m thirty years old, and I’m older than my father.”
“You don’t look it,” smiled Janet engagingly. “I think that you are very nice.”
The little remark pleased Andrew. “Well, you are a nice little pal, then. We’ll be friends.”
“Yes indeed. Did you know my mother?”
“Yes, Janet, but not very well.” Andrew looked sober. “She was a beautiful and charming girl, but she did not care for my father. He was so much older, for one thing, and I fancy that she thought him dictatorial. We did not live here when she grew up. My father married and lived in Albany, where my brothers and sisters and I were born.”
This again was news to Janet, who asked about these cousins. But only a sister with one daughter was living. They were abroad, but might come to the farm for the summer.