“No, son, there’s something else I must see to before I turn in. Aren’t you going for the cookies?”
“Yes’m. Going to munch them in bed.” And tiptoeing away in the most orthodox manner Northrup left Aunt Polly alone.
Why was she staying up? She had no clear idea but she was restless, sleepless, and bed, to her, was no comfort under such conditions. However, since she had stated that she had something to do, she must find it. She went to a desk in the farther end of the room, and took from it her house-keeping book. She would balance that and surprise Peter! Peter always was so surprised when she did. She bought the book to her nest on the sofa and set to work.
Debit and credit. Figures, figures, figures. And then, mistily, words took their places. Names.
Mary-Clare: Larry.
Larry: Northrup.
Mary-Clare! It was funny. The columns danced and giddily wobbled––and at the foot there was only––Mary-Clare! Mary-Clare was troubling the dear old soul.
Then, startled by the falling of the book to the floor, Aunt Polly opened her eyes and gazed into the face of Mary-Clare standing before her!
The girl had a wind-swept look, physically and spiritually. Her hair was loose about her face, her eyes like stars, and she was smiling.
“Oh! you dear thing,” she whispered, bending to recover 113 the book, “adding and subtracting when the whole world sleeps. Isn’t it a wonderful feeling to have the night to yourself?”