“I know I can’t explain it, Aunt Elizabeth. One can feel the difference, though. There’s room to breathe in up there.”
She smiled at his enthusiasm for the North Country, with a sincere gratitude that he was able to feel enthusiasm for anything after his prolonged sickness.
“This is not so long,” he said, turning the page of another letter from Avery. “Mostly business.” He frowned and re-read the sheet. “Pshaw! I don’t like that. It’s too much like trickery. By the way, auntie, do you happen to know where Wallie Bascomb has been this summer?”
“Bessie told me he had gone into the woods again. She mentioned it when she brought the roses.”
“Oh, those were Bessie’s roses then? You didn’t tell me, you know.”
“She asked me to say nothing about it. It quite slipped out, David. I’m sorry.”
He gazed at his aunt curiously for a moment. “It was nice of Bessie. I didn’t think she cared enough—”
“That’s because young people are so self-centred and blind, David;—especially young men who are apt to be a trifle masterly, in some ways.”
“I suppose you mean me?” he replied, laughing.
“Davy lad,” she said, her wrinkled face alight with an old hope revived, “David, do you really care for Bessie?”