Then came the tramp, tramp of the oncoming pair. Big feet, little feet. Long strides and short hops.
So they came in view around the turn of the rough road––Northrup with Noreen holding his hand and trying to keep step to the swinging words of the old song.
And Northrup saw Mary-Clare, saw her with a slanting sunbeam on her radiant face. The romance of Hunter’s Point was in her soul, and the wonder of her child’s happiness. She stood and smiled that strange, unforgettable smile of hers; the smile that had its birth in unshed tears.
Northrup hurried toward her, taking in, as he came, her loveliness that could not be detracted from by her mud-stained and rough clothing. The feeling of knowing her was in his mind; she seemed vividly familiar.
“Your little daughter got homesick, or mother-sick, Mrs. Rivers”––Northrup took off his hat––“Aunt Polly gave me the privilege of bringing her to you. We became friends from the moment we met. We’ve been making great strides all day.”
“Thank you, Mr.–––”
“Northrup.”
“Thank you, Mr. Northrup. You have made Noreen very happy––and she does not make friends easily.”
“But, Motherly,” Noreen was flushed and eager. “He isn’t a friend. Jan-an told me all about him. He’s something the wild-wind brought. You are, aren’t you, Mr. Sir?”