Matilda nodded and again shut her eyes while she knitted her soft wools into a "rainbow scarf." When she spoke, her thoughts had taken a sudden and new turn.
"I'll admit, Levi, that Sandy's clothes set on him as I never saw a man's clothes set. They are the making of him. He's terrible good looking—considering!"
"Considering—what?" Markham frowned at the placid face and close-shut eyes. "Considering! ugh! Why, 'Tilda, there is blood running in that boy's veins that we Americans ought to bow down before! There are times when he looks at me in his big, kind, loving fashion, that I feel as I did the first time the poor little dirty devil raised his eyes to me, only now all that went to the making of the lad seems to be saying, 'thank you, Markham, and God bless you!'"
"Levi, you're an awful good man, and time's mellowing you more than any one would have looked for."
"Thank you,'Tilda."
And then for a long time they sat in silence and thought their own thoughts. Bob grunted and turned around facing the brother and sister, blinked, grunted again, and probably thought of Sandy also.
The train that afternoon was on time, and the carriage Markham sent to the station presently appeared bearing Mrs. Treadwell.
Olive Treadwell was handsomer than ever, for her gray hair softened her features and the years had added just enough flesh to her bones to insure grace, not angularity.
"I am going back on the six-two train, Mr. Markham, if you will permit your coachman to take me to the station. Lans and I have a very important engagement this evening."
Levi gave the order and handed his visitor to a chair.